


Absolute Horizon

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Romansu Romansu (in the Pantsu) [2]
Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family, Holiday, M/M, Road Trip, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-08
Updated: 2009-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has issues, but he's dealing. Then there's a road trip, Thanksgiving and a whole lot of sex. Sequel to Orbits, Drift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolute Horizon

**Act 1**

John is working on a report, tapping at the keyboard with two fingers when Paul comes swooping down, his fists rattling the length of John’s desk. 

“What?” John asks. 

Paul cuts straight to the chase. “Lou says you’re off for Thanksgiving.” 

“What’s it to you?” 

“How can you be off for Thanksgiving?” Paul says. “You haven’t taken a single holiday off since – since I don’t remember, that’s why.” 

Connie, who’s at the other end of the room, calls out, “Paul, quit being a douche for five minutes.” 

“Can’t ask the man to do something he doesn’t know,” John says. He meets Paul’s squinting gaze easily enough – Paul may be a decent cop, that doesn’t excuse him from being a tool. 

“If I get held back, it’s your fault,” Paul says. 

“Keep working on that,” John says, getting back to typing. “Maybe one day, if you keep at it real hard, I might actually give a shit.” 

It’s a stupid comment, so he forgets about it.   
   


 

* * *

 

 

Some hours later John gets home, where he is hit with the faint smell of something burning the moment he opens the door.  

A couple of months ago it would’ve been cause for alarm, but today John just steps in, locks the door and hangs his jacket. He can hear someone talking in the kitchen, but the words are not meant for him – they’re too faint and the tone is wrong. 

John is in the middle of emptying his pockets when Matt walks out into the living area with his headset on. 

“—no, _you’re_ the one who’s supposed check the Main S for conflict, you know you always forget to — oh, hey, I killed your oven, don’t mind the smell – no, you shut up, just check it, dumbass—” Matt wanders off into the spare bedroom, his voice trailing off as he disappears. 

John checks the kitchen for damage, but the walls aren’t scorched and none of the cupboards are burnt. The oven, however, is not in its rightful place and is instead in the middle of the breakfast table, smoking gently. 

“Okay, so I’ve already ordered a new one,” Matt says, voice coming from somewhere behind John. “They said it’d be here in a week, but that’s probably optimistic. I hope you don’t mind, but I got a really fancy one with lots of buttons on it ‘cause then it’s really good value… _But_ that probably means you’ll never be able to use it ever, which isn’t my fault because I think they quit this model around the time they did Reagan.” 

“An oven isn’t supposed to be rocket science,” John says, already knowing what the new one will look like. 

“Yeah,” Matt says slowly. “Sorry about that.” 

John frowns as he turns to look at Matt. The headset is gone and his hair is sticking up in places, but all that’s incidental to the slight worry line beneath his haphazard bangs. 

“Let me guess,” John says. “You went online shopping.” 

Matt’s eyes go shifty. “Maybe.” 

“You don’t even have a credit card.” 

John gets a stilted look for that. The worry line is gone when Matt says, “That’s not the only way to shop, you know. And before you ask, _no_, I haven’t been doing anything illegal because I’m a moral and upright citizen… You’re _such_ a good influence.” 

“There better be something to eat around here,” John says, and sure enough, that’s got Matt rolling his eyes and picking up a bag of takeout that he shakes self-righteously in John’s direction.  

This doesn’t happen as often as it used to, unlike when John first opened his apartment door to Matt and it happened _all_ the fucking time.  

Matt has a huge number of annoying habits, and John’s come to learn quite a few of them in the past couple of months since he moved in. He talks a lot, gets distracted real easy, changes his favorite drink every couple of weeks and gets annoyed when John doesn’t keep up, buys instant meals on a whim and forgets to actually eat them, and so on. But the worst of them all, and one of the few that genuinely bug John, is that thing he used to do where he’d treat John like a bomb that hadn’t gone off yet. 

John’s pretty sure that’s not the way Matt sees it. John’s used to getting that look at work from rookies who don’t know better and perps that get the full effect on purpose, but for crying out loud, not _here_.  

Okay, so Matt doesn’t do it like that anymore, not like in the early days when he’d constantly eye the waters for any sign of a dorsal fin, like he wasn’t completely welcome in John’s home. That part’s passed, but an echo of it pops up every now and then. 

“What’s that?” Matt says, and he’s right up in John’s personal space, pressing a finger to the place between John’s eyebrows. “You’re thinky! Hey, that’s a whole new look for you!” 

John grabs Matt’s hand, because this is another one of his annoying habits: he figures what John’s on about _real quick_. 

But that’s probably John’s fault. He shouldn’t have started sleeping with Matt. 

No, scratch that. Sleeping with Matt is actually one of his best ideas.  

Matt’s fingers are twisting into John’s shirt just as their mouths meet. The idea that Matt knew this was coming throws John a little, but that thought disappears because now he’s a man on a mission and that mission is to shove Matt right up against the counter.  

“Hey, hey, there’s dinner,” Matt says, pulling away from John’s mouth. “We can—” 

John swallows the words, forcing Matt’s back into what’s possibly an uncomfortable angle to keep him in place. While his tongue swipes deep, John’s hands are on Matt’s hips, working his thumbs through the space between cloth to find warm skin. Matt can go from zero to sixty at the flick of a switch, and he has. It’s goddamn encouraging, that’s what it is. 

“What’ve you been up to today?” John says, drawing his mouth up Matt’s cheek to his ear. 

“Oh, you know, boring stuff,” Matt replies. “Ruining my eyes, plotting to take over the world …” 

“The usual, then,” John says, hands undoing Matt’s pants and pushing them down.  

Matt’s chest vibrates with laughter. He’s quite the sight, all skin below the waistline of his faded t-shirt, and the grin just gets stupider when John’s hand moves, brushing past Matt’s dick as it goes under through heat slick with sweat.  

“I think this is unhygienic,” Matt says, tipping his head to one side in acknowledgement of their surroundings. But then he makes a sound like his tongue is stuck to his teeth, and that would be because John’s found his goal and pushed the tip of his finger in. 

“Probably,” John says, though he isn’t in the mood to talk. He works his way up to a knuckle, letting Matt relax around him, and if the way he tilts his head back and shudders is any indication, things are good. 

As John slides the finger back and forth, he’s thinking about how to move on from here. He could suck Matt off and then drag him to the bedroom to finish up, or he could just leave him like this (oh, he _likes _ that idea), or he could— 

“Oh, _shit_!” 

Or Matt could just come before anything interesting happens. 

Matt’s eyes are wide, the orgasm apparently as much a surprise to him as it is to John. He exhales sharply and starts wriggling, flushed face turned away with embarrassment. 

John can’t help laughing, it’s _hilarious_.  

Matt’s mouth is betraying him, curving upwards despite the self-righteous glare he’s trying so hard to fake. John laughs until there’s no sound left, until Matt’s pushed John’s arms out of the way and well into getting John’s belt undone. 

“Damn, Matt,” John says, finally able to speak again. “I liked this shirt.” 

“I’m _sorry_, it was an accident, I was wired like you wouldn’t believe,” Matt says. His fingers are clumsy on John’s belt buckle. “Come on.” 

“Nah, it’s okay,” John says, pulling away. “You’re right, dinner first.” 

“Let me do it!” Matt insists.  

John’s still snickering as he gets a hand around Matt’s neck to take another kiss. But the kiss quickly turns into chuckles, because it just hits him right between the eyes how stupid this situation is, pressed against each other in the kitchen with their pants around their ankles. 

Stupid, certainly, but not crazy. 

John knows crazy, and this isn’t it. 

“Okay, _okay,_ look,” Matt says, getting a hand firmly around John’s dick. “Can we focus for a moment? Thanks.” 

“Sure, whatever you say,” John says, letting Matt take the lead.  

He watches Matt’s face, the way his lips draw in tight like he’s processing a difficult problem, but getting John off isn’t difficult at all because he’s got years of being an accidental monk to make up for. Matt’s fingers are deft, clever things, making each pull more enjoyable than the last, but John’s not watching that action. He’s watching the way Matt’s tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, and when John can’t stand it anymore he surges forward to take that mouth, kissing deep while he comes. 

John pulls away, exhaling slowly as he savors the moment. 

“Okay, _now_ we can have dinner,” Matt says, sounding chirpy. Then he looks at his hands. “Or maybe not _right_ _now,_ right now. This is kinda gross.” 

“And I need to change,” John says, glancing down at his shirt. He tucks himself back into his pants and heads to the bedroom to change. 

It’s in the bedroom, after changing, that John notices the printouts strewn across the bed.  

Matt has a printer in the spare room. He doesn’t use it much, but it’s easy to know when he does, because Matt can’t sit still when he works and ends up moving all around the apartment, dragging his stuff with him. These papers are part of that, but it’s the colored headers that catch John’s attention. 

He brings one back with him to the kitchen, where Matt (hands all washed) is laying out dinner. 

“What’s this?” John asks. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I was comparing fares,” Matt says. “I usually take the Greyhound anyway but you know, with all those scares lately I decided to search for a couple of alternatives and – what? What, why are you, you totally forgot, didn’t you?” 

“Forgot what?” John says. 

“Or maybe I forgot, that could be it, it’s been all over the place…” Matt’s expression is the one he gets when his mouth is on autopilot while his brain struggles to catch up. John waits for Matt to get to the point, because he usually does, eventually. “Yeah – yeah, remember I said that thing, that thing about my mom?” 

“The one where you haven’t seen her since—” John says.  

“Right, that one,” Matt says quickly. “So I was thinking that now my knee’s a lot better and I’m probably good to travel, not that it’s all that far away, but you know what I mean about using public transport, right, and it would be a – I don’t know, a…” 

“It’d be good,” John says. 

“Yeah,” Matt says. “And so I called her, and she’d really like having me over ‘cause I haven’t been back there in like… Anyway, so I was only gonna go overnight, and I was gonna tell you. I wasn’t going to do something stupid like sneak out in the middle of the night because that would be stupid, and I promise not to talk to strangers or anything like that.” Matt’s eyes are unnerving at times like these, because the words stumble over each other but the gaze is steady and difficult to meet. 

“Right,” John says. “You might want to go early in the morning. Traffic’s a bitch.” 

“Um, yeah,” Matt says.  

“So how’s about that dinner?” John says, and the topic is changed.   
   


 

* * *

 

 

John goes to work, and doesn’t think about it.  

It’s not a problem if Matt wants to go away for Thanksgiving – actually, it’s a blessing. Matt doesn’t get out much besides the odd meeting with friends or clients, and it’s really great that he’s finally gotten back in touch with his mom. They’re not estranged, exactly, but John doesn’t know the full picture since Matt doesn’t like to talk about his family much (he talks like he breathes, so John notices the gaps).  

Anyway, John has other things to worry about. There’s work to do, forms to file and people to shout at.

They’re familiar daytime things that keep him busy. 

It’s the unfamiliar phone call that comes in just before lunch that grinds things to a halt. John spends the first few rings staring at the screen of his cell before he finally picks it up. 

“Hello?” he says. 

“_Hi, John_,” Holly says. 

It’s the first time John’s heard her voice since that day in the hospital after the nationwide summer fuck up courtesy of one Thomas Gabriel turned out to be an important enough event for Holly to fly (once they got the planes working again) all the way out to see Lucy. Since John happened to be in the area, she’d dropped by to see him, too. 

But there hasn’t been a thing since, not that John expected there to be, not even when Lucy kept to her promise of occasionally checking in. It says a lot that now Holly’s on the line having called _him_, John’s automatically wondering what he did wrong this time. 

“_I have a meeting in the city tomorrow_,” Holly says. “_Just flew in, very last minute.”_ 

“Congratulations, you’re really racking up those frequent flyers,” John says. “So you going to see Lucy?” 

“_Tomorrow, yes_,” Holly says. “_But I was just… Would you like to have dinner tonight? If you’re not busy, of course._” 

“Yeah, dinner, sure,” John says. 

“_Okay, will do_,” Holly says, and she gives him the name of the hotel she’s staying at. 

It’s only after she hangs up that John realizes exactly what just went down. 

He calls Matt to tell him that he’ll having dinner out, and Matt’s response is light and mockingly disinterested. John knows Matt’s assuming it’s because he’s going out for a drink with the guys, and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t correct that assumption. 

He tries not to think about that, too.   
   


 

* * *

 

 

Holly first started straightening her hair somewhere in the middle of John being the long-distance asshole for the second time, and as far as John can tell, she hasn’t looked back since. He remembers the first time he saw her with the new do, which was after the big bomb heist bandages had been pulled off and he finally worked up the nerve to call her again, the sight of her rusty locks ironed straight had shocked him into signing up to AA, so there was some good that came out of her fashion choice. 

She still keeps them mostly straight, though sometimes the ends curl just below her shoulders like they remember when John used to twist his fingers in them.  

Tonight her hair is partially pulled back with clips, and there are lines of grey just above her ears. 

“Dad’s thinking of renovating the porch,” Holly says. “Extending it forward, push a little out into the yard, that sort of thing. I think he wants to fit his sketch set out there? So he’s probably going spend the whole time talking about that.” 

“_Hah_,” John says. “No wonder Lucy weaseled out of going back with you this year.” 

“She’s getting more creative about it, I’ll give her that,” Holly says. She takes a sip of her drink, and sighs. “Jack’ll follow her example soon enough… I’m not looking forward to _that_ one.” 

John wants to say that at least she still has them both signed on for Christmas, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his own drink and tries to find something more appropriate. “Are you still with – what’s his name? Grant? Gary?” 

“It’s Gary, and no, it didn’t work out,” Holly says, shrugging a little.  

“Oh, sorry,” John says.  

He’d forgotten how difficult this is. There are too many Do Not Pass Go areas in their conversation, and since John’s got to do a tap dance to avoid the hidden mines, the pauses build up. 

“There’s a chance I might leave the country next year for a while,” Holly says. “We’re opening a new branch overseas so there’s a whole bunch of MD openings.” 

“Hey, that’s good,” John says. “New sights, new people.” 

“I suppose,” Holly says. “But the offer smells. I have the feeling that I might not have even been considered if I weren’t single.” 

John doesn’t even know what to say to that.  

“You seem to be doing okay for yourself, though,” Holly says. 

John says, “Yeah, can’t complain.” 

“Hey, whatever happened to that guy?” Holly says. “The one you’d asked me to help find a new place for?” 

Something in John’s stomach leaps, but he manages to say simply, “Matt, yeah. He’s doing fine.” 

Holly pauses, apparently waiting for John to follow that up, but he isn’t going to. He was tense before but now it’s near unbearable and John doesn’t trust himself to not give anything away.  

Holly says, in a tone that is soft and tentative, “John?” 

“I’m not a bad person,” John says. Where did that come from? 

“I didn’t say you were,” Holly says, surprised. “I’m sorry – whatever I said, I’m—” 

“No, no,” John says quickly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve got to – I’ve got to go.” 

“Okay, sure,” Holly says, and they stand up together.  

John can’t meet her eyes, can’t bear to know how she’s looking at him – whether confused or knowing or suspicious – so he kisses her on the cheek and makes his exit.  

Hey, he’s entitled to be chicken shit once in a while. Balance of the universe.   
   


* * *

 

This is _bullshit_.  

This is bullshit that stinks, and the bottom line is that it gives John a headache. The last time he tried to go inwards he’d ended up folding himself into glass bottles, and that turned out to be a merry-go-round that found brand new ways to fuck with John at each turn. 

He doesn’t want to blame Holly, except he does. 

But not for the earlier things – that’s all dealt with, under the rug, yadda yadda. He blames her for _this_, because he’d sat across the table from her during dinner and John just _knew_ that anyone who saw them would’ve thought: _oh, how nice_. And it _would_ have been nice, except that’s not what they are. 

John did pine for Holly for years after she’d gone. The feeling eventually faded away to background noise that was barely noticeable except the times when the apartment felt quieter than usual, but by then it’d become a longing for the _ idea_ of Holly (with Lucy and Jack).  

But for the first time in eons, John doesn’t pine anymore, and the last thing he wants to do is feel guilty about it. He’s actually _happy_ – never mind that it’s been a while since he’d been up close and personal with this particular emotion, and that it had never been quite like this. Maybe being happy is like riding a bike: you never forget how, except when you do and end up face first in gravel. 

What a trade-off.  

John gets home, and when he opens the door he can barely see anything because most of the lights are off, leaving the glow of the television set the main source of illumination. 

John frowns. “Matt?” 

“You want to close the door and walk slowly.” Matt’s voice is coming from the couch, and when John’s eyes adjust, he can make out his profile in the shadows. 

“Closing the door and walking slowly,” John says.  

When he approaches, he sees that _The Exorcist_ is on. Matt is clutching a cushion to his chest, bare feet pulled up on to the seat with the rest of him. John sinks into the place next to Matt, and tugs at the cushion. 

“Get your own,” Matt says, eyes never leaving the screen. 

“I am,” John says, and pulls the cushion hard enough for Matt’s fingers to give way. Matt moves a little, letting John drape an arm around his shoulder and shift their bodies closer together despite the fact that Matt’s eyes are still captured by the on-screen action. John presses his nose to the side of Matt’s face.  

“Oh my god, _yeah_!” Matt says, laughing when pea soup goes flying on-screen. “Oh, shit, I love that part, that’s just genius right there.” 

John shuts his eyes, breathing in the smell of soap and burnt toast. There is a street term for this, and it is called freaking out. 

Which is weird, because John was pretty sure he was done with all that a month or so ago when he finally came to terms with his attraction to a man half his age. Maybe this is the second inning, and he doesn’t even know what _this_ is, only that he’s really liked it so far and he’d made a damn good job of not thinking about it until Holly had to come along and punch him in the chest with a reminder of what the _right _ thing looks like. 

Matt is the wrong size, the wrong shape, the wrong type. 

It doesn’t explain anything.  

Then Matt is turning and kissing John like he can see what’s going on in his head and knows that this is what he needs. John kisses back, and Matt’s mouth is just like the rest of him, subtly unassuming but filled with surprises. The way his tongue moves is positively _filthy_, and isn’t John supposed to be the one with more experience here? 

He’s breathing heavily before he can help himself, and Matt’s meeting him, the press of his chest solid against John’s. 

God, John’s going to fuck this up. He’s got decades of experience in fucking things up, and he’s gonna do the same here. 

John says, “Matt.” 

“Hmm?” Matt sounds a little dreamy. 

“I was with Holly,” John says. 

Matt goes still, and yup, John just fucked it up. 

“What?” he says. 

“Dinner was with Holly,” John clarifies. “She’s in town, and I guess she thought it would be nice to have a… I don’t know, a chat?” 

Matt hasn’t moved, and John can hear him thinking. John could distract him – he’s recently learned a number of ways to creatively distract Matt – but that doesn’t seem to be the thing to do right now.  

Then Matt’s fingers are moving on John’s neck, tentative and thoughtful, and he says, “Why didn’t you say so?” 

John tells the truth. “I don’t know.” 

Matt pulls back, which John does expect, but he doesn’t expect the way Matt’s hands come round to cup John’s face and bring their eyes to meet.  

“Did it go bad?” Matt asks. 

“What?” John asks, unsure.  

“Your dinner,” Matt says. “Did it go bad?” 

“No, it didn’t go bad,” John says. “But it was… shit.” 

“Shit sounds pretty bad, actually.” Matt’s expression is thoughtful. 

John smiles despite the tightness of his throat. “I could take you out. I should… We could…” 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Matt says. “Really, I’m good, John, I’m—I’m _okay_.” 

“No, it’s not okay,” John says. 

“John.” Matt’s half-laughing and half-exasperated. “You think you’re the _only_ one who’s weirded out by this? Hate it to break it to you, but you’re not.” 

“Thanks, I feel much better now,” John says wryly. 

Matt, already smiling again, slings an arm around John’s neck. “Improvise! You’re good at that. Just don’t think you have to prove anything to _me_, okay?” 

That isn’t true, but Matt’s young and doesn’t know any better. John says, “Let me come with you. For Thanksgiving.” 

“What?” Matt’s staring at him. “Wait a minute, _what_? You want to meet my _mom_?” 

“Better than being alone here for the weekend,” John admits. 

“You could get traffic duty,” Matt says. “That’s always fun.” 

“I took the whole weekend off.” 

Matt’s mouth falls open, offended. “_Why_ didn’t you just _say so_? When? _Before?_ Oh my _god_ John, you’re such an idiot.” 

“I know,” John says. 

Matt rolls his eyes. But then he’s pulling at John’s neck and before he knows it, they’re making out. Actually _making out_, like John isn’t some crotchety old geezer with an expiration date stamped on his shiny bald head. It takes John a moment to get into it because he’s still reeling from how easy Matt makes this, but then he’s right there, following Matt’s mouth as it moves. 

Matt comes up for air. “Is there anything else I should know? I mean, anything important I should know right this instant?” 

“No,” John says. “I think that’s it.” 

“Good,” Matt says. “Wanna fool around?” 

“Not really,” John says. “Mood’s gone.” 

Matt gets to his feet, planting his hands on his waist and looking for all the world like a supervillain ready to declare his foolproof plan. “Fair enough. So you just sit right here, I’m gonna go to the bedroom and jerk off _all_ over your pillow and then—_oh shit_—” 

John’s on his feet and Matt’s running, half-terrified and half-excited as he mutters “_Shit, shit, shit_” under his breath with John hot on his heels. 

John manages to get his arms around Matt’s waist, pulling him up hard against his chest and just avoiding getting his teeth bashed in by the back of Matt’s head, but that’s why he’s a cop. 

Then he turns and flings Matt to the bed. “Holy _shit_!” 

John laughs, because he feels as stupid as Matt looks. He undresses quickly, and Matt’s doing the same except that in his excitement he gets twisted in his shirt and John has to get over there and help out. Helping out, of course, leads to John crawling on top of Matt, and Matt’s soft giggling getting more hysterical until John puts his mouth on Matt’s skin and the sound turns into something else.  

Matt’s relaxed, easily pushed on to his stomach while John takes his time exploring the miles of pale skin. This thing between them is still new, so John hasn’t seen everything Matt has, let alone found all the buttons that he can push. 

“Oral fixation,” Matt says.  

“What?” John removes his mouth from where it had been biting the skin behind one of Matt’s knees. His fingers, however, stay right where they are, working Matt open. 

Matt looks over his shoulder. “Sorry, I was just thinking out loud to distract myself from – oh, I don’t know – how I’m gonna make a _real big mess_ if someone doesn’t get their act together sometime soon!” 

John crooks his fingers, getting a low moan for his troubles. 

“Death by _teasing_!” Matt says, pushing back on to the fingers. “An ode to Matt Farrell, who died with John McClane’s fingers up his ass!” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” John says. Matt really does love finding new ways to be an annoying prick. One day he’ll show Matt how _real _ teasing is done, and then he’ll be sorry. But that won’t happen tonight, so John gets to his knees, pulling Matt’s hips up with him.  

The first breach is always a shock to John, even though he’s used his body to do way more extreme things. Matt isn’t the only one who needs a moment, because John’s whole body winds tight and he has to remind himself that the vice around his dick is just the start of it – there’s more, and it gets better.  

John exhales slowly, turns his neck to remove a crick, then shakes feeling back into his fingers. He strokes Matt’s lower back. “You okay?” 

“Uh,” Matt says. 

John braces his feet and slides in. Despite the tightness around his cock, John forces himself to ignore it as much as he can, and pay attention to Matt instead. This is the only time in the proceedings that Matt’ll be quiet, but John can read the welcome of his body. It’s the sum of a lot of things – his fingers relaxing against the sheets, the shift of his hips as he adjusts, the turn of his neck when the intrusion flips into something good. 

John reaches around to tug at Matt’s cock languidly, getting him back interested though John knows that’ll just make him noisy again. 

“You are an evil man,” Matt says. 

“Yeah,” John agrees. Then he stills Matt’s hips with his hands, and thrusts in sharply.  

After Matt’s mostly done groaning, he says, “Evil, _evil_ man. And a tease. Which is the worst evil of all.” 

The words aren’t that funny but John laughs from the way Matt says it, his head swaying side to side like he’s half-drugged and losing it quickly. John leans forward a little, forcing Matt to rest most of his weight on his arms, so John’s the one holding him on to his dick. 

“I could stay here, just like this,” John breathes. 

“Did I mention evil?” Matt says, his voice muffled by the sheets. 

John adjusts his knees a little and starts thrusting again. “So what does that make you?”  

“No questions, please, busy getting fucked,” Matt says. 

“Damn right,” John says, and he’s pushing in, forcing Matt’s thighs farther apart and that’s really got to burn but the sounds he’s making are nothing if not encouraging. John’s watching the way his body twitches at each thrust, waiting for when Matt starts biting the pillow and – yeah, there they go. 

Matt releases a groan that has the suggestion of pain. 

John pauses. “Is your knee—” 

“_Yes_, my knee is fucking _ okay_!” Matt yells. 

“Fuck,” John mutters. Matt is writhing against the sheets, an impossible wet dream come to life and John just knows that he’s going to pay for this dearly because it’s just too damn _good_. 

But hey, he can worry about that later. Right now, Matt’s coming, and that’s more important.  

John wrings out the mess without apology, still thrusting even as Matt cries dissolve into whimpers. Since Matt drives him nuts, it’s only fair. After that, John can’t exactly stop, so he keeps on going, bending over Matt and grunting at the extra effort needed when Matt squeezes down.  

It’s a surprise when John feels Matt’s fingers on his neck. John opens his eyes, realizing that Matt’s turned his head on the pillow, one eye just visible through his damp hair but definitely watching, and he’s definitely reaching one hand up to touch John’s face. 

“God, _Matt_,” John whispers as he comes. 

When John returns to earth, he finds that he’s mostly sprawled on top of Matt, who’s still shaking. Cursing softly, John rolls off and touches Matt’s arm. “Hey, you okay?” 

Matt rolls on to his back, and his eyes are wide when they settle on John. “When did my life become a porn film?” 

“You got me,” John says He’s still breathing heavily and wonders, not for the first time, if he could afford to skip his morning runs once in a while for this extra workout he’s getting. 

“Or it could be a sitcom,” Matt says. 

John frowns. “What?” 

“Our lives, a sitcom,” Matt says. “Don’t you see? The hardened New York cop and the spectacularly gifted computer whiz, forced to live together and end up have many wacky adventures. But it’d have to be on Showtime if you want to get all the sex in.” 

“You really need to get out more,” John says. 

“It’s such a turn off whenever you say that,” Matt says. “Just so you know, because we all need a little constructive feedback in our lives.” 

John shifts a little, folding his arms behind his head and settling in to watch Matt gesture with his hands, talking animatedly like he hadn’t just been cursing himself hoarse a couple of minutes ago.  

“Hello? Constructive feedback, hint hint,” Matt says. 

“You talk a lot,” John says. 

“That’s an observation, not feedback,” Matt says. 

John considers the fact that Matt looks no less ridiculous after a good fucking, and that’s just another part of the whole unassuming package that makes him what heis. John says, “Try giving me proper instructions. But, you know, when the situation’s right.” 

Matt doesn’t have a response for that. He just swallows, and then looks up to the ceiling. After a long while, he says quietly, “Noted.”   
   


 

* * *

  
   
   
   
   


 

**Act 2 **

They’re an hour before the planned departure time, and John (who finished packing ages ago) is relaxing on the couch. Matt’s somewhere in the background keeping up a steady commentary on his activities, so John relaxes while he watches tv for traffic updates. 

“I don’t think my bag is big enough – well, it’s big enough for a change of clothes, yeah, but the Golla’s only just big enough for my laptop and I don’t want a third one for my other stuff, just give me a minute, okay?” 

John feels surprisingly calm. Maybe the enormity of it hasn’t kicked in yet, but John figures that that’s a good thing. As he waits, he chooses to focus on the fact that this is just another road trip with Matt, except this time no one’s injured and bleeding. 

“Do you have something with wheels?” Matt asks, still walking around noisily. “Never mind, stay where you are, I’ll just – I’ll just… Why are you even watching traffic updates? It’s three in the fucking a.m.” 

“It helps to be prepared,” John says. And because he doesn’t want to jinx it, he doesn’t add that holidays leave him on edge. “Go finish packing.” 

“I’m not the one who just decided to leave before the crack of dawn, smartass,” Matt says. “_I _ wanted to go after the sun came up.” 

“When you see what the roads look like after the sun does come up, you’ll thank me, Matt,” John says. “Now go pack.” 

“Packing, packing,” Matt says. 

When was the last time John actually did something for Thanksgiving? He thinks back, eventually stumbling on a memory of that time with Jack. It had been mostly good and only just a little awkward, and John would’ve liked to do it again but then Jack had gone off to school in the middle of nowhere. 

“John?” Matt says, startling John. The tone is completely different, and it makes him look up.  

“What—oh.”  

Matt is standing there, hands holding a box. “Is this—” 

“You want to put that back,” John sighs. It figures that Matt would find the lone item in the apartment he’s _not_ supposed to see before the appropriate deadline. “Right where you found it.” 

“It’s not even December yet!” Matt says, grinning. “Can I open it? It can be my Thanksgiving present instead, then you can get me something else for Christmas and—” 

“Matt. You know how sometimes I tell you to do something and it’s really in your best interest to do it instead of arguing because the consequences will really be bad? _ This_ is one those times.” 

Matt’s smile goes a little wobbly. “I can’t believe you already got me something—” 

“_Matt_.” 

“Fine, fine.” He goes off and it’s all quiet until he returns ready and declares, “I’m armed.” 

Even with Matt’s new addition, they don’t have all that much stuff to get to the car. They make it down easy, and then John’s slamming the trunk shut and Matt is getting into the passenger seat, muttering softly to himself, “Here we go, yippee-ka-yay.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Matt says once they’ve hit the Interstate. It’s still an ungodly hour, but there are other cars out there, not that John’s in any sort of rush.  

“That’d be something new,” John says. 

“I told my mom I’m bringing a friend, but I don’t think you’re what she’s expecting,” Matt says. 

“If she’s expecting someone like me, then there’s a whole other side of you I need to know about,” John says. 

“Yes, because I go around seducing middle-aged muscle men in all my free time.” There’s a tinge of tension in Matt’s voice that isn’t funny. “But she’s… Well, she’s my mom, I love her, but she’s… She’s a little… Okay, I have absolutely no fucking clue how she’s going to react.” 

“Do you have a story for how we met?” John asks.  

“At first I thought the truth would be nice,” Matt says, “But then I remembered we’re not allowed to share all the details so I figured I’d just sum up and say that my place got burned down, you saved my life, and _poof_ – instant best friends.” 

“For the record, I would not believe that for a minute,” John says. 

“Let me do the talking, okay,” Matt says, and the edge in his voice is sharper, an alien thing that throws John off. “You just be yourself and she’ll be in love with you in an hour, tops, no problem.” 

“What?” John says. 

“Just do that thing, with the charm,” Matt says. “Just don’t push too hard, I don’t want her thinking the wrong thing because that would be really uncomfortable and deeply traumatic for me.” 

So that’s why John’s so calm about this. Matt’s doing all the freaking out for the both of them.  

“We don’t have to do this,” John says.  

“Excuse me?” Matt says. “Who’s the one who offered? There’s two of us in here and I don’t think it was me, so you just shut up and drive.” 

John blinks. 

Matt sighs. “Sorry.” 

“What I meant was,” John says, “I’m still gonna drive the whole way, but if by the time we get there, you think it’d be too much for me to be there, I’ll just go to a motel or something. No big deal. So we decide then, not right now.” 

“Oh, okay,” Matt says. “Okay.” 

The next mile goes by in silence until John says, “You think I’m charming?” 

“Oh, _please_, like you don’t know, you use it all the time,” Matt says. “It’s like getting out of a speeding ticket by flashing your cleavage.” 

John almost swerves. “What?” 

“It totally is,” Matt says. “Didn’t you know you’re supposed to use your superpowers for good?” 

“Just for that I’m turning on the radio,” John says, and he does. 

Matt doesn’t comment. When John briefly glances over, Matt’s eyes are closed and his expression is – well, not exactly _relaxed_, but it isn’t pinched, and that’s something at least.   
   


* * *

 

John is left to his own devices while Matt sleeps and the sun creeps into the sky. Lunch is still a long way off and they’re doing good time, so John isn’t even hitting the gas that hard.  

He’s in the middle of singing along to a John Lee Hooker song on the radio when he realizes that Matt’s awake. John inclines his head a little. “Breakfast?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Matt says, voice slightly coarse from sleep.  

John pulls over at the next stop and they step out of the car to eat their bagel stash under the sky.  

Matt’s watching John while they eat, not that this is something new. Matt’s right, there’s a lot of stuff rattling about in his head, and it never seems to stop – it just fluctuates in intensity and is right now at DEFCON 4. 

“What would you do if I told my mom about us?” Matt asks. 

“Not my call,” John says. 

“That’s not what I asked,” Matt says. “I asked what you would do if I chose to tell her.” 

John considers this. It’s a legitimate question, but John doesn’t know Matt’s mom. He has no mental image of her beyond the handful of mentions Matt’s made, and it’s a world away from the DEFCON 1 of Holly’s showing up. 

“I don’t know,” John says. “I’ll make it up as I go along.” 

Matt nods, and eats quietly for a while. 

John says, “I know you don’t like to talk about your family, but no family’s perfect. Just look at me, I’m the poster guy.” 

“It’s nothing like that,” Matt says. “My mom and I get along okay. It’s not difficult to talk about it, and I won’t break out in hives if I do. I just don’t want to talk about it with _you_.” 

“Oh.” 

“Shit, not like _that_,” Matt says, nervous laughter an undercurrent to the words. “What I mean is – it probably sounds stupid, but… John, you have grown-up kids.” 

“Ah,” John says, starting to get it. Stories of childhood make Matt feel his age; maybe the only thing that makes Matt feel self-conscious. “Yes, I noticed.” 

“Yeah,” Matt says.  

They’re in public, so there’s a near-foot of safe space between them where they’re leaning against the car.  

“And Lucy scares the shit out of me,” Matt says. 

“You should meet Jack,” John says. After a while of watching the cars go past, he adds, “For the record, I like it when you talk about your family. It’s part of who you are, and that makes it interesting. I thought you not telling me was something else.” 

“What, you find it interesting when I tell you stuff like how Joseph used to sell my things for lunch money?” Matt says. 

John chuckles. “Yeah, definitely.” 

“God, we’re so fucked up,” Matt says. 

“Amen,” John says.

 

* * *

 

Now Matt’s wired and can’t sleep. He gets a headache after a couple of minutes staring at his palmtop, so that leaves one other alternative for passing the time, and it’s not road trip bingo. 

“Okay, so while I was sleeping I had this dream, right, and it gave me the idea.” 

“What idea?” 

“I’m going to write a book.” 

“What would this book be about?”  

“Well, _you_, obviously. We won’t have to market it as non-fiction, except that it’ll have that extra edge if we do but I don’t think we really can since I’m thinking most of it is classified, but I think that even if it’s placed under fiction, it has plenty of potential even if there’s the chance that people might find it too outrageous—”  

“No, Matt.”  

“—and the stuff you know, the stuff you’ve done, they’re legend! We’ll have to change the details, of course, but the heart of it, that’s what it’s all about – one guy standing against the odds but fate keeps pulling him in again and again, and it’ll be revolutionary—” 

“_No, _ Matt.”  

“—and I’ve already got the title! I’m gonna call it Old Habits. It’s perfect! How can you say it’s not perfect?” 

“Because you’d have to rewrite yourself as a hot blonde chick.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“And you can’t write for shit, Matt. I’ve seen your stuff.” 

“Wait, what, when?” 

“Can’t walk anywhere for falling over it. Or maybe the pages just randomly flew out of your room when you weren’t looking.” 

“Give me a minute, busy being embarrassed right now. Also, what the fuck – you’re reading my _ stuff_, who gave you permission to read my stuff?” 

“So sue me, I’ve got eyes, what am I gonna do, wander around the apartment with ‘em shut?” 

“You know what would be a good idea? We could walk around the apartment with no clothes on. That’d be a good idea. Save on laundry, too.” 

“Sure, if you’d like your dick to freeze off.” 

“Aha! So you _are_ considering it, but only for the summer!” 

“I’m trying to drive, Matt.”   
   


* * *

 

“Okay, it’s just over three miles, coming up,” Matt says. He’s putting his palmtop to use by finding them a place to have lunch. John would’ve been happy just to stop wherever, but Matt’s having none of that and comparing the choices he can find on the internet. It shouldn’t make a difference, but because Matt’s insistent, John lets him. 

At Matt’s instructions, John pulls up to the stop. He comments that it looks just like any other place, because it does, but Matt ignores him and gets out of the car. John just follows. 

These places are always the same. The same seats, the same tables, the same disinterested coffee-pot wielding lady behind the counter. Matt makes himself comfortable in a corner booth at the farthest end from the door, and John settles into the seat opposite. 

They place their order, and it’s only after that that Matt rests his elbows on the table and looks at John with a clear agenda in his eyes. 

“What?” John asks. 

“Ground rules,” Matt says. “No sex in my mom’s house.” 

John jerks a little. He’d scoped the place and its relative sense of privacy the moment he’d walked in, but it’s still startling to hear the words in public. Matt sees John’s sudden discomfort and makes an elaborate show of looking around them (no, there’s no one close enough to hear what they’re saying) and then shrugs as if to say, _so_? 

“Gotcha,” John says. “No hanky panky.” 

“Yes, indeed,” Matt says. “So try to keep your hands to yourself, okay?” 

“I think I’ll manage,” John says, just barely refraining from rolling his eyes.  

“So that brings me to the second item of the day,” Matt says. “Since there will be no funny business in my mom’s house, we have to fuck right now.” 

“What?” 

“Right now,” Matt repeats. “If not we’ll be frustrated. You know what a dick you are when you’re frustrated, but then it’ll affect _me_, and I really don’t want to get sympathy asshole syndrome. So for the good of my relationship with my mom, we’ve got to have sex right now.” 

John looks at Matt, whose mild expression hasn’t changed. The waitress drops by with their coffee and greasy food, but even after she leaves John’s still looking at Matt in something that’s not quite a game of chicken, waiting to see who’ll blink first. John does, because he’s hungry, so he tucks down to eat. 

“You’ve never fantasized about doing it in a public men’s room?” Matt asks. 

“No.” John taps his chest with a fork. “Cop.” 

“I’ve never heard you sing before,” Matt says, and it’s that thing he does where he changes the topic without completely changing it. He’s also quite the multi-tasker, because he’s cutting his food, eating it and keeping John trapped in that familiar stare. “It’s kinda hot. You have a growly Springsteen thing going on.” 

John only realizes it some way in, but Matt is trying to seduce him. In Matt-speak, it means that he’s making squinty eyes at John and taking slow, deliberate bites of everything. It’s working, but not in the way Matt thinks it is. It’s because – and there’s no way to sugarcoat it – Matt looks stupid when he’s trying to be seductive. Matt looks ridiculous, the way he licks his spoon is ridiculous and the foot brushing against John’s calf is ridiculous.  

But this is one of those times where the thought really does count, and John can feel the slow burn of arousal working through his limbs, side by side with the inalienable desire to reach over and clock Matt for looking so damn stupid. 

Matt finishes his food first, his cutlery making a soft clatter when he sets them down on the table. Then he’s sipping his coffee and tapping his fingers on the wood grain. The toes are gone from where they had been pressing at John’s ankle, and now John’s ankle is lonely. 

“Okay, I’m going to go,” Matt says to his plate. “If you feel like joining, by all means.” 

Then he’s up and walking. 

John doesn’t watch him go, doesn’t do anything other than take another long swig of his own cup of coffee as he stares at the off-green color of the recently vacated space opposite him in the booth. 

John’s pretty sure he isn’t a pervert. He remembers what it was like to be young and hormonal, but that was a lifetime ago. Until just a couple of months ago he’d been content to sit on the backburner, only occasionally venturing out when the vice of the world got too tight. Paul likes to say that life begins at 40, but John remembers what it was like to turn 40, and _his _ life was doing the exact opposite.  

What’s happened since? Why is he seriously thinking of getting up and taking Matt up on his invitation, when he knows how bad an idea that is? Why is he dropping payment on the table and getting up to walk to the men’s room with his jacket folded strategically in front of him? 

The door to the men’s room is heavy and creaks loudly when John pushes at it. Once he’s through, it hits him once again how much this is a _bad idea_. It’s small (noisy door will warn them), noise will echo off the tiles (the vehicles outside will mask it), and... 

And Matt’s head is leaning out of the farther side stall, expression surprised like he didn’t expect to John to be there at all.  

Hey, it’s _still_ not the craziest thing John’s ever done. 

“I’m so turned on right now,” Matt says, grabbing John’s shirt and pulling him in. 

“Keep it down,” John hisses, locking the door and hanging his jacket. 

They’re two grown men forced into a tight space, so at first John has no idea how this can work, but then Matt’s fitting himself in the lee of John’s body and it becomes a little familiar. 

“Be quiet, or I’m out of here,” John orders. 

Matt’s gaze drops to John’s crotch dubiously. “Really?” 

John huffs in annoyance, and makes snap movements getting Matt’s pants open, cupping the heated flesh and working it quickly. 

He’s pretty sure it can’t be that good, because the angle is awkward and Matt’s leg is pressing against the porcelain seat, but Matt’s sighing and his arms come up and fold over John’s neck – yeah right, like John has any hope of escaping. The sighing turns into little huffs of breath, in his nose and out his mouth, and when there’s the first hint of a grunt, John pushes two fingers of his free hand into Matt’s mouth to keep him busy. 

“The things I do for you,” John whispers. “What if someone comes in here, huh? What if there’s someone in the next stall listening in, wondering what kind of idiots would be doing this in a diner along the fucking Interstate? If this place were a little bit bigger I’d just fuck you right up the wall, that’s what you deserve, you son of a—” 

John winces, because Matt’s biting down – not hard enough to cause damage, but just enough to make the warning known, and John quickly grabs some toilet paper before Matt ruins another one of his shirts. 

Matt comes quietly, head falling on to John’s shoulder as he shudders. John holds him through it, then when it’s done throws the wad of tissue into the toilet. Matt’s humming softly, and then he moves, his aim a little off in his attempt to find the edge of John’s mouth. 

“I wanna suck you,” Matt says, his voice low like it sometimes goes after sex.  

“Not here,” John says, though from how close Matt’s pressed to him, he can’t keep it a secret that he really likes that idea. “Rain check, Matt.” 

“No sex in my mom’s house, remember?” Matt reminds him. 

“Shit,” John says.  

He pulls back and braces against the door as Matt squeezes through the tight space to sit down on the toilet. It’s even more awkward to get their legs to fit around each other, but John’s hoping that Matt will find a way to make this worth his while. 

Only once John’s pants are open it’s obvious that’s not going to happen, and after a few attempts of Matt trying and failing to get his mouth anywhere interesting, he sighs and plants his mouth at the softness of John’s belly. 

And that’s actually – _ hey_. 

It surprises them both the way John’s cock leaps, the wetness of Matt’s mouth a contrast with the stubble burn that follows it. Just below, Matt’s fingers are on John’s dick, rubbing it firmly against the hard lines of his chin. John can’t watch the proceedings because he knows his neck will hate him for it, so he keeps his eyes on the wall, breathing steadily through his nose until his legs get a little wobbly and he has to brace both hands against opposite sides of the stall. 

Matt likes to bite. John would’ve never guessed looking at him, but there’s a lot about Matt that surprises him – and continues to surprise him. Matt doesn’t seem to think there’s anything unusual about setting teeth to flesh; he just does it and admires his handiwork after. Maybe he does it because he knows John can take it – he does so enjoy challenging John, seeing how far he’ll go, and apparently he’ll go far enough and agree to a quickie in a public bathroom. 

A sudden heavy creak startles John. 

Matt pauses, but then he gets right back on it, pushing his tongue into John’s belly button and jerking off the erection against his neck. 

There’s movement outside – the clear sound of moving shoes with (presumably) feet in them – and it should be a dowse of cold water but it _isn’t_. There’s a curse ready in John’s mouth but there’s nowhere it can go, there’s nowhere he can move, he’s _fucked _ and Matt’s got him trapped— 

John puts his head down, permits himself a soft _fuck_ and then comes. 

When John opens his eyes, Matt’s put a finger to his lips and is mouthing a very deliberate, _“Shhh!”_ 

John gets a hand into Matt’s hair and tugs, tilting the other man’s head back for the kiss he has coming.  

Outside, there’s the sound of the shoe owner making use of a urinal and then flushing. There’s no shouting and no one comes banging on their stall door. 

John waits until the steps are followed by the heavy door opening and closing, then they both start getting themselves back in order. Tissues are passed back and forth, and because there’s really no elbow room they have to help do up each other’s pants.  

John steps out first, sliding his jacket back on and checking himself in the mirror. Matt comes up next to him and washes his hands in the sink. He’s got an expression that’s an over-deliberate attempt at nonchalance that would only fool a blind person in Iowa. John can’t decide which is worse – _this_, or if Matt had on his regular grin of smug self-satisfaction.  

“I’ll be in the car,” Matt says once he’s done and walking to the exit. 

John gives him a sideways glance. “You got come on your ear.”  

He shouldn’t have said that out loud, but the sound Matt makes is worth it.   
   


* * *

  
   
   
   


 

**Act 3**

They arrive at the house just before sunset.  

John’s spent the last couple of miles asking if Matt was okay with this, and Matt had answered in the affirmative every time until, when John asked again to make sure, Matt had yelled at him: “It’s not all about _you_, asshole! _ Yes_, you’ve got to be here because I haven’t seen my mom in forever, _okay_!” 

John had shut up after that. But now they’re here, and it’s time to do something before the neighbors call the cops on their suspicious loitering. 

“Looks nice.” John’s observing the greenery because he’s a concrete jungle kind of guy and wouldn’t know what to do with a tree if it hit him in the face. (Hit back, probably.) “Very homey.” 

Matt doesn’t answer. He’s busy doing an impression of a mannequin, staring straight ahead. 

John whistles, waiting for Matt to surface from the murky depths of his own thoughts. 

This is stupid. 

John opens the door and steps out. Man, he’s forgotten how fresh air makes his nose go funny. He sneezes a little, then glances back at Matt. 

“You want me to ding dong ditch?” John says. “Hey, what’s the problem?” 

“How about the part where I haven’t seen her in forever, or have you forgotten?” Matt says. “I can’t just – I mean, she knows I’m coming, I called her and all, but you don’t just…” 

“You’re doing the right thing,” John says. “C’mon.” 

Matt swallows. “Ugh.” 

John waits while Matt takes his time getting out of the car. Matt debates whether to bring his cane, but decides against it and starts walking up the pathway to the front door. John follows a couple of steps behind, with Matt glancing back every now and then to make sure he’s there, not that John has anywhere else to be right now. 

The door opens at the second knock. 

“Matt, honey!” Matt’s mom is right there, grabbing Matt in an impressive hug and shaking gently. “You made it! I thought you’d forgotten the way, that was silly of me, you never get lost, do you, Matt?” 

“Hi, mom,” Matt says, and it’s in a tone John has never heard before. It’s quieter, almost shy. “This is, uh—” 

“John! How do you do, I’m Matt’s mom, it’s so nice of you to bring him all the way out here, I hope the traffic wasn’t bad! Oh my manners, I’m Elaine, do come in, oh wait, you can actually park your car up here, it’s better, then bring your bags in, you must be so tired from the drive…” 

So that’s where Matt gets his mouth from.  

Elaine Farrell is a small woman, dark brown hair, animated eyes and a smile that’s almost as bright as Matt’s. She waves at John to move the car, which he does while she and Matt watch from the porch. John watches them right back, observing how Elaine’s doing most of the talking while Matt’s mouth only opens occasionally. 

She’s still doing most of the talking when she gives John a tour of the house and shows him how to open the convertible couch. Matt’s following them around like a yo-yo while Elaine goes on about her cross-stitch projects and how it took her forever to decide on new curtains when she had the dining room re-wallpapered.  

“And over there’s the bedrooms, Matt’s staying in his old room, I’ve made it all nice for you, honey,” Elaine says. 

“Thanks,” Matt says, and he’s heading that way with his bags, leaving John inexplicably alone with his mom. 

“I’m so glad he’s got a good friend like you,” Elaine says, sighing. “Poor Matt, such a lonely boy, only, haha, he’s not a boy anymore, what am I saying. I do forget, you know how quickly they grow. How did you two meet do you mind my asking, John?” 

“His apartment caught fire,” John says. 

“Oh, so you’re a fireman?” Elaine asks. 

“Detective, actually,” John says. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Elaine says. There’s nothing wry or suspicious in her tone, just an open genuineness that’s positively alarming to a New Yorker. “_Oh_ no wonder, you’ve been a good influence on Matt, I’m sure you know what a good young man he is.” 

“Yeah, he’s a real gem,” John says. “Saved my life a couple of times, just to make up for it.” 

“Now you’re just teasing,” Elaine says. “Oh oh, where are my manners, my house is a little small, one bathroom small, but it’s a nice bathroom, so you’ll have to put your bags in Matt’s room, right that way, I hope you don’t mind.” 

“No, no,” John says. “I don’t mind.” 

“I’ll just get dinner ready,” Elaine says, and she disappears in a flurry of beige and plaid. 

John gets to Matt’s room, knocking on the door to get a grunt of an acknowledgement before he steps inside. 

The bedroom is a biohazard of clutter, furniture and knickknacks piled in tight like Elaine’s stocking up for an apocalypse but got her priorities wrong. Some of the stuff is in a recognizable flavor a la Matt, while the man himself is sitting on top of a checked comforter on the lone bed in the middle of the room. Matt looks smaller in this place, somehow tucked in on himself.  

“So this used to be your room?” John asks, looking around.  

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I shared it with Joseph until he left. It was good when he left, I had more room for my stuff. My, um, my PC used to be over there, my shelves over there, and I swear to god I’ve never seen that dresser before in my life.” 

John can’t quite see it. This is a nice enough home for a widowed mom and her two boys to grow up in, with plenty of room to run around outside even if there isn’t inside. John used to dream of having a place like this when he was with Holly, but he only wanted it in an abstract sort of way ‘cause he knew it’d drive him crazy to not have his security blanket of metal and concrete. He did wonder, though, if having a place like this would’ve made it easier. 

Then there’s Matt, who’s got his arms around his torso, his entire body an exclamation mark to the unspoken _I want to get out of here_. 

Something’s going on with him that John doesn’t know about; some internal baggage that’s making him run circles in his own head. A part of John wants to declare that this is stupid for the sake of stupidity, but Matt isn’t John – he doesn’t know how far life can go in its determination to fuck you over, and as far as having perspectives goes, John wants Matt to stay where he is for as long as possible. 

“Come on, show me around,” John says. 

“Didn’t she just give you the grand tour?” Matt says. 

“There’s outside,” John says. “You can show me where you got that scar on your ankle.” 

Matt looks out the window. It’s still bright out where the sunset hasn’t finished its rounds.  

“Okay, sure,” Matt says, getting to his feet, and the little smile on his lips feels like a reward.  

 

* * *

 

John doesn’t know how he feels about this. 

He’s having dinner with Matt and Matt’s mom, and a part of him is waiting for Jerry Springer to show up in the middle of dessert. 

“Aunt Lily’s joining us tomorrow for dinner,” Elaine says to Matt. Then she turns to John and says, “We call her Aunt Lily but she’s not actually related but she is family. Matt’s known her since he was little, isn’t that right, Matt?” 

“Since I was little,” Matt says. “Aunt Lily lives just a ways down. Her mashed potatoes are something to sing about.” 

Matt’s thankfully talking more, easing baby steps into the conversation. John doesn’t mind that he’s ended up being the fulcrum of the conversation, with Matt and Elaine bouncing topics from either side as the conversation swings.  

Elaine’s a nice enough person, and John’s listened to enough of her conversation to know that the wide-eyed off-kilter thing isn’t an act. She fires on more cylinders than Matt, making him look positively subdued. But unlike Matt, who talks while his brain’s on overdrive thinking things that John can’t imagine, Elaine seems to be pouring all her energy solely into the conversation. 

“There was that time, remember Matt? You were working on that fancy project of yours and the whole street lost power?” Elaine says, laughing. “That was quite the – oh, Mark and Rosanna made such a ruckus about that, but then I said, oh come on, Matt’s only eleven years old he couldn’t have possibly done that.” 

“I’d believe it,” John says. “Matt does like causing scenes.” 

“What, no, I don’t!” Matt says. “Topic change! Mom, did you get the furniture upholstered?” 

“Oh, yes, honey, you noticed!” Elaine says. 

That’s when John’s cell rings.  

The tone is unmistakable (the theme from _Airwolf_ that Matt uploaded weeks ago; John couldn’t figure out how to undo it) and it travels clearly from the living room, where the phone is tucked into his jacket.  

John apologizes quickly and goes off to fetch his phone, fully expecting someone from the precinct demanding some form or another he forgot to file. It’s not. 

He picks up and says, “Hey, Luce.” 

“_Hi, daddy_,” Lucy says. 

Uh-oh, she’s brought out the Big D. “You’re a day early. To what do I owe the honor?” 

“_There’s been an incident_.”  

“What is it?” John says quickly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

“_Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, it’s… Things aren’t going so well here with Brian_,” Lucy says. “_You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really bad… Could you pick me up?_” 

Hah, John never liked Brian, mister suspicious eyes, and he knows what he’s talking about. But John refrains from voicing those thoughts because there’s a whole other issue at hand. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m in Bay County.” 

There’s a pause. “_What the hell are you doing in Bay County_?” 

“Seeing the sights,” John says. “I’ll be heading back to the city tomorrow, I can drop by then.” 

“_Geez, no, that’d be too late_,” Lucy says. “_Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. Thanks anyway_.” 

“Sure,” John says.  

She hangs up, and John tucks the phone back in his jacket. He makes it halfway to the dining table before it rings again, forcing him to backtrack. 

“_Dad_?” 

“Yes, Lucy,” John says. 

“_Are you there with Matt?_” 

It’s really not an option to lie to his baby girl. “Matt’s here, yes.” 

“_Oh_.” The syllable betrays absolutely nothing.  

It’s an unfortunate truth that John can read Lucy even less than he can Holly, despite how everyone and their grandmother insists that Lucy is so his daughter. John doesn’t see it – Lucy’s strength and stubbornness are equal parts his and Holly’s, her temper is Holly’s, her intelligence is Holly’s… Perhaps the only thing that’s truly John’s is her inability to open her mouth without cussing. 

So John has even less of an idea of how to act around her now. It was easier when she looked up to him and was easily distracted by the promise of robot ponies, but then she grew up and became fond of reminding him how he gets it wrong all the time. This tentative truce they’ve had since July could go up in smoke at any moment, and John really doesn’t want it to be Matt that makes that happen. 

“_Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow_,” Lucy says. She hangs up again. 

John returns to the dinner table feeling a little less into it than earlier. 

Elaine pauses whatever thread she’s on now. “Not anything bad, I hope?” 

“No, it’s just my daughter saying hello,” John says.  

“Oh, you have a daughter,” Elaine says. There’s a barely detectable drop in her voice, but then she’s talking again and the moment is gone. “Did I tell you I’ve taken up pottery? They had a workshop at the center a couple of months ago, it was quite exciting, I have to tell you…” 

John leans back in his chair and tries to pay attention. Across the table, Matt’s watching him. Their eyes meet briefly, but that passes, too.   
   


* * *

 

It takes John a couple of seconds to remember where he is when he wakes up. 

Right. He’s on the living room couch of Elaine Farrell’s house; that’s why the blanket smells funny and the springs are noisy when he moves. He clears his throat and adjusts his head on the pillow.  

That’s the moment his vision adjusts to the darkness and he sees a pair of eyes in front of him. 

“Jesus Christ!” John says, jerking backward. He lowers his voice. “What the hell, Matt?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Matt whispers. He’s kneeling on the floor, a night-time sight of messy hair and stubble. “What did Lucy call about?” 

“Nothing important,” John says. “Asking for a lift from her boyfriend’s place, told her I couldn’t make it.” 

“Oh,” Matt says. “Okay.” 

John rubs his eyes, waiting to see if there’s anything else. “Did you wake me for a bedtime story or something?” 

“I feel really bad,” Matt says, not sounding apologetic at all. “I can’t sleep knowing you’re out here. It must be uncomfortable.” 

“I’ve slept on worse,” John says.  

“I mean, _really_ uncomfortable.” Matt gives John a look. 

“No,” John says quickly. “You set the ground rules. We’re gonna stick by ‘em.” 

“Since when do you care about rules?” Matt says. 

“I’m staying here,” John says firmly. He hunkers down, pulling the blanket close over his shoulders. 

“Okay, okay,” Matt concedes. “It’s just… I’m really, really horny right now.” 

John gives him a look that he hopes translates the ‘_what the fuck’_ he can’t bring himself to say out loud in this house. He knows Matt likes sex. Hell, John likes sex, who doesn’t, but there’s something deeply abnormal about Matt’s drive. He never seems to _not_ want it, and that’s wrong because John knows that he wasn’t like that when he was Matt’s age.  

“You might have a glandular problem,” John says. 

“That could be it,” Matt says, nodding quickly like he already knows that John’s leaning towards giving in. “See, I was just lying in bed, trying to go to sleep and suddenly I started thinking about how you’re just outside, and _ that_ got me thinking about _this_ afternoon, and it all just cascaded from there so now I’ve got a hard-on that needs immediate attention.” 

“You really need to channel all this energy into something positive,” John says, and he can’t believe that he’s having this conversation. 

“Orgasms _are_ positive,” Matt says. “Helps clear up the arteries, avoid heart attacks.” 

“Well, if you put it that way…” John says. 

“I’m very smart,” Matt says.  

John doubts that, especially if Matt’s serious about this. But John gets up as quietly as he can and follows Matt to his temporary bedroom. As they pass the short hallway, John eyes the door to Elaine’s room, which would only be at a safe distance if it were in another state.

John can do another quickie, but that’s not what this is about.  

Matt shuts the door behind them, and John realizes that there’s music playing. Matt’s laptop is open precariously on something that might be a stool, and there’s a stream of New Age shit coming out from its tiny speakers.  

“She knows I like to sleep with music on,” Matt says by way of explanation. 

“You do?” John says, surprised. “But you’ve never…” 

“You’re better than music, _ duh_,” Matt says, and his hands are reaching out. 

Matt’s smiling into the kiss, ain’t that a peach. John doubts he’ll come tonight – there are some lines even he won’t cross – but this isn’t about John. This about Matt being a ball of nerves, and this is something John can do for him. 

“What do you want?” John asks. 

Matt pulls away, eyes close enough to be bright in the darkness. “You take requests now?” 

John shrugs. “Hey, I’m easy.” 

Matt gets to the bed and strips, tossing his shirt and shorts to the floor while John watches. They’re watching each other, really, and that seems to be enough to work Matt up while John stands aside, an innocent bystander. Matt’s wasn’t kidding about that hard-on, and he gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed, parting his knees and gesturing to the space between. 

John’s hyperaware of every noise they’re making, gauging how much of it will be masked by Matt’s laptop, how much will leak through drywall, and overlaying all of that with the silence beyond. _Someone_ has to be. In a way, that makes it easier when John sinks to his knees between Matt’s open thighs, because right now he doesn’t get to be selfish. 

John meets Matt’s gaze, and parts his lips in suggestion. 

Matt’s breath hitches. John knows if it had been anywhere but here, he would have groaned. Matt swallows, visibly trying to keep it together as reaches out and trails his fingers along John’s lower lip. The fingers dip in briefly to stroke his tongue, then go under John’s chin to urge him close enough to get a knee over his shoulder. 

Matt aims his erection towards John’s mouth, and the head brushes the line travelled by his fingers earlier. John forces himself to stay still, watchful. Matt is hypnotized, like he can’t believe what he’s doing – and that’d make the two of them because John can’t believe he’s kneeling down on fuzzy carpeting while another man trails pre-come over his lips. 

John isn’t even _doing _ anything, but Matt’s already breathing heavily, his dick hardening further as he teases himself against John’s chin. Surely John’s stubble has to be making it uncomfortable, but who is John to rain on Matt’s parade. 

Then, finally, Matt’s pushing the head into John’s mouth, and it’s silken between his lips. John fixes the angle as he takes the weight on to his tongue. Soon enough Matt’s thrusting gently, rubbing himself within the confines of John’s mouth. 

Matt leans forward and whispers, “Suck, please?”  

He could’ve made it an order, but it isn’t. It’s a pretty little request, all tied up in a bow, and how can John refuse?  

John sucks, and Matt’s whole body shudders like it didn’t know that was coming. John gets his hands on Matt’s knees, holding them in place while his mouth takes the insistent slide of heat as Matt’s hips move. 

John recognizes the signs, and they tell him that it won’t be long now. Matt’s going to thrust a little more, and then… 

And then… 

“Sorry, sorry,” Matt says, hand tapping John’s shoulder. “I can’t quite… _Shit_.” 

John pulls away, working his jaw as he sits on his haunches. Matt is leaning back on his arms, eyes to the ceiling and cock jutting up, unchanged. 

“Just relax.” Despite Matt’s conscious enthusiasm, it’s obvious that his subconscious has issues about doing this _here_, so John says, “Close your eyes.” 

Matt does. John leans forward and kisses the insides of Matt’s thighs. He goes slow, mouthing skin and running his tongue along Matt’s balls in a deliberate tease.  

John ignores Matt’s dick for as long as possible. He puts his mouth everywhere, kissing everything he can reach and breathing warm air where the skin is all stretched tight. Matt’s eyes are still shut but now his brow is scrunched with it, and John grabs Matt’s shirt from the floor and throws it upwards – Matt takes the hint and bites on it.  

Matt’s got to be aching for it now but still John pauses. The first touch is a fingertip to the head, and that makes Matt jerk – with surprise, sensitivity or desperation, John can’t quite tell. John keeps his finger there, slight pressure and little movements back and forth until he brings a thumb to join the proceedings, exploring the head and tugging gently. From up north John can hear little whimpering noises and the rustle of the sheets where Matt’s digging his fists in. 

John knows he could make this last much longer, getting Matt’s whole body to beg for it, but that can wait for another time. He takes a moment to stretch his jaw, and then his mouth is sliding back down, sucking as hard as he can. 

That does it. Matt’s wound so tight his body jerks up, the shirt in his mouth barely enough to muffle the sudden groan he makes. John just keeps going, hoping that they’re still quiet enough and there isn’t going to be an irate woman screaming her head off about how her son is getting the blowjob of his life by a middle-aged dickwad who should know better. 

Shaky fingers are touching the side of John’s face, warning him that he’s gonna blow, captain.  

John holds on. His hands are firm on Matt’s thighs as he writhes and jerks, an ankle knocking repeatedly at John’s back like he’s trying to hit the brakes. 

By _god_ it’s uncomfortable, and John worries that he’s going to get come up his nose, wouldn’t that be hilarious (not). But hey, it’s a goddamned good ego boost to know that he can do this, even if Matt’s regular sexytime soundtrack has been put on mute. 

Matt’s legs relax eventually, and John puts them down as he pulls his mouth off Matt’s softening cock. Luckily there’s some old newspaper on the floor that John can crumple and spit into. That mess goes into the trashcan, and then John stands up to survey the damage. 

Huh. Matt’s passed out.  

John removes the shirt from Matt’s mouth, and he immediately starts snoring. John shakes his head as he moves Matt up the mattress, settling his head on the pillow and pulling the comforter over the rest of him.  

John permits himself a few seconds to watch Matt sleep, and then goes off to brush his teeth a second time.  

Any interest he might’ve had in jerking off is extinguished by a glance at Elaine’s door.   
   


* * *

 

The second time John wakes up in Elaine Farrell’s house, it’s just starting to get light and no one’s staring at him from anywhere in the living room. 

John’s usually up at this time of the day regardless of when he slept the night before, but he’s not in the mood for a mild morning workout. He feels a little off, like he sometimes does the day after he’s done something nuts and survived. But there are no guns, bombs or crazy mercenaries involved, just Matt’s dark eyes and soft requests and – _Jesus_ – John going along with it. 

John shakes his head and makes himself focus on the immediate: brushing his teeth, freshening up, sneaking in to Matt’s room to get a change of clothes (he’s still out and doesn’t stir when John enters) and making himself presentable for the day. He brought a tie just in case, but it’s probably overkill to wear it in the morning. 

Elaine makes an appearance just as John is tucking the convertible couch back into its regular place. She’s tiptoeing, and is startled to see him up and about. 

“Oh my, you’re up early,” she says. “I haven’t even started on breakfast yet.” 

“No rush.” John says, holding back the automatic _ma’am_ that has the chance to offend since he’s not exactly sure how old Elaine is.  

Elaine looks at him, and there’s something different from last night. She says, her voice soft maybe because it’s still early and she doesn’t want to wake Matt up, “I’m just so happy that Matt has someone. He was such a… Excuse me, I’m being silly again. I just can’t help worrying, that’s what I do.” 

“Believe me, I understand,” John says. “But Matt’s got a pretty good head on his shoulders. You did a great job, Ms Farrell.” 

Elaine swallows and looks away. “That’s really nice of you to say. I’ll go, um, get some pancakes on.” She disappears into the kitchen. 

There are magazines in the living room, but unless John wants to take up knitting, he’s staying clear away from those. He briefly considers going outside, but it’s fucking cold and the only thing that could make that a good idea would be a cigarette, but John’s emergency stash is back in Brooklyn, leaving him back at square one. He eventually ends up reading a week-old local newspaper he finds in an otherwise empty newspaper rack.  

The sound of someone yawning makes him look up. Matt’s padding barefoot to the common bathroom, eyes heavy-lidded and hair even more messed up than it was some hours earlier. 

John chuckles to himself though there’s no joke to be seen. Maybe his funny bone is broken. 

Just then, the sound of a motorbike distracts him. It doesn’t appear out of nowhere, but John is suddenly aware that it’s _there_, closer than the occasional engine-based roar that’s part of regular background noise. He sits up and pulls the curtain aside to look out the window. 

Next to John’s car is a motorbike, and as he watches, the rider kills the engine and dismounts. John sits up further, watching the way the rider removes his helmet and eyes John’s car suspiciously.  

The eyes and set to the chin are similar, and John knows that this is Joseph Farrell, Matt’s baby brother. 

The front door opens. Joseph’s immediately looking at John. “Who on earth are you?” 

“Honey!” It’s Elaine to the rescue, taking him into another one of her killer hugs. “You made it, oh I’m so relieved, I heard that bike of yours a mile away, I was so worried something happened to you.” 

“I did tell you I’d be arriving _today_, right, mom?” Joseph says, kissing his mother on the cheek. “Who’s the…?” 

“Oh, that’s Matt’s friend, John,” Elaine says. “He’s joining us for dinner, isn’t that nice?” 

“What?” Joseph says. 

Then Matt’s there as well, still wearing his sleeping clothes but significantly more awake. “Joseph.” 

“Oh,” Joseph says, visibly surprised. “Huh.” 

John knows _this_, too. He’s had enough awkward family reunions to deserve the damn medal. 

“So, Elaine,” John says brightly, because he has no problem bringing dialogue to life-and-death situations. “I heard you got some pancakes for us?” 

“Oh, right right,” Elaine says quickly. “Come on, boys.” 

They survive breakfast, mostly because Matt and Joseph are quiet on opposite sides of the table, leaving Elaine and John to take up the slack. Elaine’s chatter has a different slant to it, but John can’t be sure if she’s talking a lot because her boys or quiet, or if her boys are quiet because she’s talking a lot. Matt and Joseph only answer when prompted directly; otherwise Elaine’s repeating most of the latest news of last night to Joseph, while Matt retains a haughtily disinterested expression that has absolutely no place on his face. 

As soon as breakfast is over, Matt escapes to his room and Joseph flees outside.   
   


* * *

 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me he was coming!” Matt says. 

John’s sitting on the bed in Matt’s temporary room, and Matt is pacing back and forth.  

“She did it on purpose!” Matt says. “I know she did!” 

John’s never seen Matt angry before. He’s seen Matt frustrated, confused, irritated and disappointed, but this is all that and extra. It’s really not a good look for him.  

Matt couldn’t be frightening if he tried, but he _is_ a passionate man, and suddenly John knows that he doesn’t ever want Matt to look at him that way. 

“Your mom did she what she thought was right,” John says. “And it _is_ Thanksgiving—” 

“Bullshit,” Matt snaps. “You’rethe _last_ person who gets to lecture me.” 

Ouch.  

But John can’t blame him, because he knows how tempers run high during family gatherings, and heaven knows John’s said some really stupid shit that he’d regretted for years after. So John just shrugs. 

“I’m going to…” Matt grabs his laptop and drags it on to the bed with him. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” 

John retreats all the way out of the room. 

At least Elaine’s friend Lily has arrived and is keeping her company in the kitchen. Lily seems to be cut from the same cloth so it’s easy to see why they’re friends, and it’s a small victory that their kitchen chatter is light and jovial. When John walks past, both women report their progress in near identical chirpy voices. 

“Looking forward to it, ladies,” he says. 

John ends up watching tv in the living room. It isn’t long before Joseph joins him, dropping into one of the free chairs. 

“Is Matt still sulking?” Joseph asks. 

John wouldn’t call it sulking, exactly, but he says, “Yep.” 

Joseph sighs. 

They watch tv in silence for a while, John’s mind drifting until Joseph suddenly laughs at something, and John realizes that Joseph’s laugh is nothing like Matt’s. Matt’s voice is unusually deep – a contrast to his shape and one of the first things John noticed about him – but it goes higher when he’s excited. Joseph’s voice is lighter than Matt’s, and it turns the other way round, going deeper when he laughs. 

“Did you really sell off Matt’s stuff for lunch money?” John asks. 

“He still remembers that?” Joseph says, surprised. “I was eight. What does anyone know when they’re eight?” 

John thinks about Jack, at eight years old, rolling his eyes and showing his dad how the fandangled new computers worked. “Quite a lot, I’d say.” 

That breaks it a little, and they start talking in small circles. It’s only a little bit better than the junk that’s on tv, but hey. 

“Are you a… a computer guy, like Matt?” Joseph asks. 

“_Hah_. No, I’m a cop.” 

“You’re kidding me,” Joseph says, and he leans forward, interested. He looks John over, trying to figure out where the pieces fit. “To be perfectly frank, you’re nothing like any of Matt’s friends I’ve met.” 

“I get that a lot,” John shrugs easily. “I’m guessing you’re not a computer guy like him, either.” 

“I’m a mechanic,” Joseph says. “Got a small business of my own. It isn’t much, but it’s mine, and it did pay for the bike.” 

That leads to John and Joseph going outside to admire said bike. It’s obviously Joseph’s baby, a shiny black Ducati that feels like a fucking Terminator between John’s legs when he sits on it.  

“Am I right?” Joseph says, grinning as John revs the engine. 

It _purrs_. John touches it with a sense of reverence, suddenly understanding why guys his age go for this kind of shit.  

“How’d a guy like you end up friends with Matt, anyway?” Joseph asks.  

“Long story,” John says. 

“Oh.” Joseph’s obviously reluctant to press further, unsure of his welcome. “Matt doesn’t hate me, does he?” 

“I don’t know, he’s barely mentioned you,” John says.  

He honestly doesn’t think Matt hates Joseph, not _really_. Matt’s capable of strong emotions, but this doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he’d do. Couple that with the fact that John’s got a pretty accurate asshole radar and Joseph’s not giving off those vibes – he seems like a decent guy. 

Joseph’s taller than Matt, broader around the shoulders and utterly clean-shaven. John wonders what it might’ve been like for them growing up – specifically, he wonders what it was like for Matt to grow up with a younger brother so different from himself. John got along with his sister well enough (until she married that schmo from Texas) so when they grew up, they never envied or stepped into each other’s space.  

Man, there’s so much John still doesn’t know about Matt. 

“Shouldn’t you be with family?” Joseph asks. He tilts his head a little, and it’s the only movement that’s anything like Matt’s. 

John doesn’t get to answer, because just then the front door opens and Matt’s standing in the doorway. 

“Hey,” John says to him. “You got to try this.” 

“An Italian gas guzzler? No,_ thanks_,” Matt says. 

“Geez, Matt, chill, it’s not like I’m trying to steal your boyfriend,” Joseph says. 

That appears to be the wrong thing to say, because Matt’s marching forward and boy, does he look pissed. John dismounts the bike and tries to surreptitiously tiptoe out of the line of fire. 

“Joseph, _you’re_ the one who left, so you have no frickin’ right to act so damn high and mighty about it!” Matt says. “_You_ left, okay?” 

“We’re not starting this,” Joseph says. “It’s not my fault you have issues—” 

“_No_!” Matt snaps, his voice going shrill. “You don’t get to sit there and act like _ I’m_ the villain. I did _everything_ for you!” 

“I didn’t want it!” Joseph yells back. “I’m not like you, Matt!” 

“Yes, I know! But that doesn’t mean a damn thing, I’m your _brother_!” Matt says. “I was _ trying_, goddammit, I was trying real hard and you just kept messing up everything I did. Do you have any idea what you did to mom when you left?” 

John really wants to get into the house now. 

“You left, too!” Joseph shouts. “All the way to New Jersey! Have you even _seen_ mom since you packed up and went? Is this your first time back, _Matthew_?” 

“Fuck you,” Matt says. 

“Boys!” It’s Elaine, rushing out of the house with only her apron as protection against the cold. “Boys, please don’t, dinner’s going to be ruined and—” 

“Is this his first time back?” Joseph asks his mother. 

“Yeah, mom, tell little Joe what happened after he left,” Matt says. 

“Has he even _called_ before this?” Joseph says. 

“_Hey!_” John shouts in his crowd-control voice. “It’s _cold_, it’s _Thanksgiving_, and your mother _really_ doesn’t need this right now! Can we just call it in and make it through the day without shouting at each other? Matt?” 

Matt grinds his jaw. “Fine.” 

“Joseph?” John says. 

“Sure, whatever,” Joseph says. 

“Get inside,” John orders. Then he softens his voice and says, “Elaine, I’m sure your dinner will be wonderful.” 

“Kay,” Elaine says quietly, following her sons into the house. 

It’s stilted and even more awkward inside. Elaine turns the tv volume way up before she heads back to the kitchen. This leaves Matt and Joseph circling each other, but John’s got his stonewall face on and has had three decades of practice to make it as menacing as possible.  

John knows that Matt is _ so_ going to make him pay for this later, but that’s later. 

Lily, when she appears, looks clueless. “Did I miss something?” 

“We’re just really excited to try your famous mashed potatoes,” John says. 

“Oh my,” Lily says, quickly returning to the kitchen. 

It takes way too long for the table to get set, the food readied and the five guests sitting down at their respective places. 

“Um,” Elaine says. “Shall I say grace?” 

This is exactly the moment that a sudden roar of a motorbike engine cuts through everything. 

Joseph jumps to his feet, eyes wide with alarm. “My _bike_!” 

Then John remembers that in the commotion, they’d left it running. To be more to the point, _ John_ left it running with the keys in the ignition. 

Joseph’s running, John’s running (grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair as he does), and everyone else is running behind them. As soon as they get out the door, they find that Joseph’s motorcycle is roaring down the road, a car’s tailing it way too closely, and loud, obnoxious voices are whooping in the air. 

“Wha—” Joseph gasps. 

John gets his keys from the jacket, and he makes short work of getting in his car and starting it up. The tires screech when he backs out on to the road, and then he’s off. 

A car chase isn’t exactly what he had in mind when he decided to join Matt’s Thanksgiving getaway, but no one can say John isn’t flexible. It’s not even like it’s _ hard_ to drive here – there’s no traffic to speak of and barely any pedestrians to worry about. John’s got a mental map of the roads in his head, and with a little clever navigation he’s right up to the troublemakers, honking repeatedly.  

Stupidly, the car in front starts swerving in an attempt to block him. There are two individuals inside, so plus the one on the bike, that’s three punks who are missing Thanksgiving dinner. 

John gets the window down and yells: “NYPD! Pull over! _Pull over_!” 

Damn, he’d hoped that would work.  

John backs up a little and then hits the gas, swerving around the car and up to the bike. He flashes his badge and shouts, “Pull _over_!” 

The guy on the bike looks surprised but defiant. Then he flips John the bird. 

“Fine,” John mutters. He accelerates again just to get far enough ahead, and then yanks the handbrake. His car swerves, tires screaming in protest and shuddering to a halt.

The bike and car, of course, are still heading right for him. They’ll swerve around (if John’s lucky and the idiots want to live), but this is just to slow them down a little while John jumps right out of the car and runs to a wheelbarrow that’s set at the corner of a nice, trimmed garden.  

John grabs a shovel, kicks off the blade, turns around, and throws. 

The bike goes down with a painful clatter, the rider rolling head over heels across the asphalt. John winces, but it’s more for the bike than its former occupant. 

The other car screeches to a halt, followed by the heavy clicks of doors opening and feet spilling out on to the street.  

“Is that any way to treat your elders?” John says, measuring them up as he walks. “What part of pull over did you not understand?” 

“You okay, man?” the taller one says to his fallen comrade. 

The rider gets to his feet. The angry face he’s making is cut by the way he wobbles when he approaches John. “What the fuck! What the _fuck_!” 

This is the easy part: there are no moving vehicles and none of the three youngsters are packing. Sure, one of them tries the stupid thing of making a swing for John, but that’s easily avoided and John uses a relatively gentle knee to leave the guy a gasping ball on the ground. The remaining two apparently take that as an invitation to close in on John. 

John doesn’t like to think about how easy this is.  

It isn’t an automatic thing, though muscle memory does play a small part in  this. If anything, John has to hold his normal response _back_ because these aren’t the type of dangerous fuckheads John crosses paths with regularly on his beat; these are just boys being stupid, and John knows that stupid boys can’t tell the difference between a regular cranky old guy and a cranky old guy that can kick their ass three ways from Sunday.  

Their expressions are always the same when John puts them down: embarrassment and disbelief.  

Yeah, _deal_. 

“Come on,” John says. The sole conscious kid is struggling against John’s bicep in a chokehold. “You’re just making it harder on yourself.” 

The kid makes a sound, squealing like a girl who’s not Lucy, and then _finally_ stops struggling. John sighs with relief and gets to his feet, dragging the boy up with him. 

A car pulls up nearby and stops. John looks up and sees Matt, Elaine and Joseph stepping out from the vehicle, where Lily’s in the driver’s seat. Elaine’s yelling at someone on a cellphone, Joseph’s rushing to his bike and Matt’s just standing there, looking at John. 

“I’ve called the police,” Elaine says, closing her cell. “You boys are in _so_ much trouble.” 

One of them tries to make a break for it, but then Matt’s running, grabbing something that looks like an oversized washer from the sidewalk and throwing it hard enough to hit the guy in the shins. He crumples to the ground, and Matt pumps his fist. 

John tightens his fingers in the collar of the kid he’s still holding on to, shaking him a little. 

“I got it,” the kid mutters. “Fucking hell.” 

“Language!” Elaine and Lily say in unison. 

John glances at Joseph, who’s still kneeling next to his bike. “You okay?” 

The look Joseph gives him is familiar. “Matt, your friend’s _crazy_.” 

“Pfft,” Matt says. “That’s nothing.” 

 

* * *

  


 

**Act 4**

   


  



“Here you go, honey,” Elaine says. She’s holding out a paper plate on which there are a few slices of turkey, a pile of mashed potatoes and green leafy things.  

John says a thank you and puts the plate on his lap. 

They’re in a hospital, and John is on an outpatient bed. John doesn’t need to be here, but Elaine had been adamant that he get checked out as thoroughly as possible, simply refusing to take no for an answer. Matt hadn’t been helpful at all, agreeing with his mother’s assessment that he need a look over ‘just in case’. 

That’s how they ended up here: a nurse poking at John’s head while he grumbles, Matt snickering to himself as he watches John being poked at, and Elaine going around feeding everyone in sight with as much of her Thanksgiving dinner as she and Lily were able to pack up and bring with them. 

“You got a little…” Matt says, gesturing. 

John wipes his chin. “Thanks. How’s Joseph taking it?” 

Matt turns to look. Joseph’s standing against the wall not too far away, eating from his own paper plate and not talking to anyone. 

“The bike’s a little messed up,” Matt says. “Yeah, I guess he’s upset. Not at you, though.” 

“Your apartment blew up,” John points out.  

Matt makes a face. “So not the same thing. My apartment was my _sanctuary_, his bike is just…” 

“I’m just saying,” John says.  

“Right. Right,” Matt sighs. He turns and walks a winding path towards Joseph, ultimately ending up leaning against the wall next to his brother. After a while, Matt says something, and another long while later, Joseph says something back. 

Leaving them to it, John turns his attention back to his food. Nearby, Elaine’s still feeding people and Lily’s enjoying herself well enough chatting up the police officer who’s supposed to be taking her statement.  

Then someone’s standing right next to John’s bed. He looks up. 

“Lucy.” To say that John’s surprised would be an understatement. 

“Hello,” she replies. She sits down next to him on the bed, and cranes her head to study the superficial scratches at the back of his neck. “Why am I not surprised that you’re incapable of having a normal holiday?” 

“Not my fault,” John says. “What are you doing here? How did you _get _ here?” 

“Hitchhiked,” Lucy says, then laughs. “Kidding, I took a bus. I just really needed to get away, and this seemed like as good an idea as any. Called Matt to get directions… I guess he didn’t tell you.” 

“No, he didn’t,” John says, glancing at Matt, who’s still not-quite-talking with his brother on the other side of the room. 

“So what happened here?” Lucy says. “Matt wasn’t too rich on the details.” 

“Just some kids trying to steal Joseph’s motorcycle,” John says. He inclines his head. “That’s Joseph, Matt’s brother. And _this _ is Elaine, Matt’s mother.” 

“Hello!” Elaine says, handing Lucy a plate filled with fresh servings. “I’m Elaine, Matt’s mom, nice to meet you. This is your daughter?” 

“Yes, I’m Lucy, thank you,” she says, using her free hand to shake Elaine’s. “Oh thank goodness, I’m _starved_.” 

“Poor dear, Lucy, is it? That’s a nice name,” Elaine says. “Do take seconds, there’s plenty more where that come from, don’t be shy. Although I think we’re running out of the salads, I should get Lily and see if we can do something about the…” She wanders off and out of hearing range. 

John moves down the bed a little, letting Lucy make herself comfortable in the space next to him. They eat in silence for a while, John basking in the unexpected warmth of the moment. 

“Not bad.” Lucy looks at her plate approvingly. “Might have even been worth that bus ticket.” 

“Did you call your mom?” John asks. 

“What? Oh – right. I called her on the way, yeah. I have to say that it sounds like Jack’s having a merry old time.” Lucy snickers.  

“As opposed to you, taking a bus ride out to the middle of nowhere just to get away from your—” 

“Don’t say it.” 

“—guy,” John finishes with a neutral word. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who can’t have a normal holiday.” 

Lucy makes a face at him. “Nice.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving.” John grins at her. 

Lucy’s still looking at him, but the expression is changing, curiosity and confusion leaking through the unexpected gentleness of her smile. “Dad, don’t get me wrong, but…” 

“Hmm?”  

“You and Matt are pretty close now.” The sentence is a tentative statement.  

John shrugs, figuring that it would have to depend on her definition of _close_. “It’s not like I had anything else to do for the day.” 

“Well, I know, but…” Lucy chews on a piece of turkey. “I’m just being curious, I guess. I shouldn’t be surprised, though, it’s not like you know how to do anything like normal people.” 

The words aren’t hurtful, because they’re true. John shrugs. “I guess.” 

Matt drops by just then, a wide smile ready for Lucy. “Hey, stranger! Didn’t expect to see you in this neck of the woods.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Lucy says. “What did you blackmail my dad with to get him be your chauffeur? Come on, you can tell me.” 

“Actually, he offered,” Matt says, looking at John. “I tried to blackmail him _not_ to come.” 

John, still a little buzzed from the adrenaline of the early evening, smiles right back. 

Next to him, Lucy freezes. “Oh god,” she whispers.  

“Lucy,” John says, stiffening right along with her. “Luce?” 

“I need to, excuse me, I’ll be—” Lucy’s off the bed and moving away from him. 

“Shit,” John says, and he gets down from the bed, too, food forgotten. 

A nurse makes a sound of protest at John’s movement but Matt’s on it, enabling John to chase after his daughter as she blazes a trail down the hallway. 

“Lucy!” John calls out.  

He corners her by a stairwell, getting a hand on her shoulder. She pushes it away and whirls to face him. 

“You’re—” Lucy breathes. Her eyes are so much like Holly’s. “You and Matt.” 

Shit. He _really_ can’t lie to her. “Me and Matt.”  

John swallows, waiting for her to process and pass judgment. She’s looking at him, eyes softly wretched and shaking her head the way she does whenever John’s done something spectacularly stupid.  

“I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it,” John says. “You’re right. I can’t do anything like normal people.” 

“Oh god, _dad_,” Lucy says. She puts her hand on her mouth and turns away. “Please tell me this isn’t a mid-life crisis thing.” 

“It isn’t,” John says firmly. He knows for sure, because he’s already had his mid-life crisis. Had it, drank through it, and come out the other side a little grizzlier and a lot balder. He knows what _that_ looks like, and this isn’t it.  

This is something else. 

Lucy shakes her head again, the low whine from her lips a sound of disbelief. “You know what this means, don’t you? This means that you forfeit the right to comment on my love life ever again.” 

John frowns. “Hey, wait a minute—” 

“No, never again!” Lucy says, a stern finger in his face. “You don’t get to criticize _ anyone_ I date, even if I hook up with a middle-aged matron who runs a stripper bar in Canada!” 

John tries to find a loophole, but she’s right. He’d be the biggest fucking hypocrite there ever was. “Yeah, okay.” 

“You promise?” Lucy says. 

John grits his teeth. “Sure.” 

“Okay,” Lucy says. A reluctant smile breaks the hard line of her lips. “Geez, dad, I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“I didn’t, either,” John admits. 

“Okay,” Lucy says, her voice softening further. She’s still shaking her head a little, but it’s not so bad. Suddenly she hits him in the arm. “Dad, I can’t believe you!” 

“I can’t believe me, either!” John says. 

Lucy’s lips are drawn in as she looks up at him, then her arms come out and take him into a hug. It isn’t that tight, but the breath is squeezed from John’s lungs anyway. “Oh, _daddy_,” she says. 

John hugs back, a part of him wondering whether her unpredictable moods come more from him or Holly. 

When Lucy pulls away and gazes up at him, her smile rings a soft alarm bell in John’s head because it’s the type usually accompanied by a request for a pony. “I did wonder a little, since I expected you to kick him out ages ago, but I didn’t think it would actually… Wow.” 

John clears his throat a little, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. “Well, it’s not like I _planned_ it—” 

“Of course not,” Lucy says kindly, linking her arms in his and tugging to get them walking. She squeezes his arm. “Oh, poor daddy.” 

“Lucy, quit it,” John says. “I think I like you better when you’re yelling at me.” 

“No, you don’t.” Lucy squeezes his arm again. 

“Okay, I don’t,” John concedes. “But could we… Could we just keep this just between us? I’m still…” 

“I know, I get it,” Lucy says. “C’mon, I’m still hungry.” 

Elaine makes a fuss when they get back, and John quickly apologizes for running off when he _obviously_ doesn’t want to do anything to make his supposed injuries worse. He settles back on the outpatient bed and gets down to finishing his dinner.  

Lucy, despite her claim of still being hungry, leaves his side and heads straight for Matt. 

John gets a little twinge in his head, an apparent acknowledgement of the unholy weirdness of seeing his fully-knowing daughter walk right up to and throw an arm around Matt’s shoulders. Matt looks terrified (he normally looks like that around her anyway), but he allows himself to be pulled to a side where a soft conversation takes place. John decides not to watch. 

“More mashed potato, John?” Elaine says. 

John considers. “Yeah, fill ‘er up.”  

After a while Lucy returns to John’s side, picking up her own unfinished plate. Matt, doing a good job of looking calm and unruffled, follows close behind. 

“Better get s’more,” John says. “I think Elaine’s finally running out.” 

“This is my second Thanksgiving in a hospital, believe it or not,” Matt says, sitting in a nearby chair. “The first time was ‘cause I had to get my appendix removed, so you can imagine how lame that was.” 

Joseph, who has been moving towards them at the same time, pipes up, “Hey, I remember that. You asked mom to bring your jammies ‘cause you couldn’t sleep without them.” 

“_Thanks_, Joseph,” Matt says. “See if we give you a ride now.”

  “Hey…” Joseph says awkwardly. 

“Oh right,” John says, remembering. “Your ride’s messed up.” 

“Yeah,” Joseph says. “I was thinking I’d just leave it at mom’s, then come back in a couple of days with my truck. I just need a lift back to my place, it’s on the way for you guys, I think…? If you don’t mind, of course.” 

“You’re paying for gas, Joey,” Elaine says.  

Joseph looks at his mom. “It’s on the way—” 

“Even so,” Elaine says. Then she turns to Matt, reaching out to pet his hair though he squirms from her touch. “Matt, honey, I can’t believe you still remember that appendicitis thing, that _was_ a rotten year, wasn’t it? But we had all those leftovers, remember how long we got them to last? You couldn’t even eat anything that time. Would you really say this year’s is worse?” 

Matt’s face is a near-unreadable thing. “No. It’s better, definitely.” 

Lucy’s head is bent facing her plate, her lips are sucked in tight together like she can barely stop herself. If it were anyone else, John would’ve reached over and cuffed them.

 

* * *

 

“I almost threw up,” Matt says.  

“Good thing you didn’t,” John says. “Elaine would’ve taken that pretty personally.” 

This is the first alone time they’ve had all day. They’re back in Matt’s temporary bedroom, packing up their things to head back home. As nice as it would be to spend another night in casa Elaine, Matt’s adamant that they quit while they’re ahead and skedaddle before the good cheer dries up again. John doesn’t mind either way. 

“What did Lucy say, anyway?” John asks. 

“Nothing much,” Matt says, voice going higher with faux nonchalance. “Fulfilled my traumatic experience quota for the day. You know, I could feel her eyes on me the whole time? Just _watching_? She was probably wondering how I managed to corrupt you.” 

“_You_ corrupted _ me_?” John says.  

Matt’s smiling. “How about that, huh?” 

Lacking a snappy response, John just throws Matt’s shirt at him. Matt’s still smiling when he catches it and folds it down for packing. John likes this smile, and definitely likes that it’s back where it belongs. 

“I promise not to argue with Joseph in the car, how’s that?” Matt says. 

“Worked out a truce, did you?” 

“Eh,” Matt shrugs. “Or something. He’s just… Well, he’s my kid brother. I love him, but damn he can be an annoying little asshole sometimes.” 

“Well—” 

“I didn’t mean that.” Matt leans against the edge of the bed, eyes lowered and expression older somehow. “I got it wrong. After dad died, I just… I tried, and I got it wrong. Pushed him away. So I really can’t blame him for being pissed at me.” 

“He’s not pissed at you,” John says. “He’s worried that you hate him.” 

Matt frowns. “What? No, never.” 

“Then tell him.” John sighs, gaze going elsewhere because he can’t look at Matt while he says this aloud. “I spent a long time hating my dad. There was a thing, and we didn’t talk even after I heard that he got sick. I didn’t want to believe it. I thought it was him making an excuse. I’ve got a lot of regrets, Matt, you know that. So take it from someone who’s played the asshole gig for a long time… It sucks balls.” 

John’s still looking away, waiting for Matt to fill up the sudden silence in the room. But he doesn’t, and John has to drag his eyes up to look at him.  

This is what Matt looks like when he’s run out of words. He’s just looking at John, breathing steadily, eyes almost peaceful. When his mouth curves upwards a little, John has to turn away again. 

Suddenly there’s knock at the door, and Lucy’s head appears round the edge. “Oh good, you aren’t making out.” 

“Dude, so not funny,” Matt says, because this is still his mother’s house. 

“Relax, your mom’s outside making sure your brother doesn’t mess up the car,” Lucy says. “I’m just checking that you guys are ready to go.” 

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Matt says.  

They bring their luggage out together to where John’s car is ready. Standing right next to it is Elaine, who is busy wrapping a scarf around Joseph’s neck. When Matt approaches, she gives him a big smooch and runs her fingers through his hair. “Behave yourself,” she says. 

Lucy’s making that lemon face again as she watches, and John just knows she’s going to mock Matt for it later.  

While the others load the bags, Elaine pulls John aside.  

“You will watch out for Matt, won’t you?” she says, thankfully soft enough so the others won’t hear. “Not that I don’t think he can’t take care of himself – of course he can – but you know what it’s like, I just worry, and maybe you can help him find a nice girl somewhere, not that I want to pressure him or anything, but it would be nice. It’s been a pleasure having you join us.” 

“Thank you,” John says, with the straightest face he can manage. 

They get in the car, making it the first time John’s sat in the back. He _can_ drive, but Elaine’s taken the doctor’s advice to heart and demanded that John rest. Matt doesn’t have a valid driver’s license and there’s no way John’s letting Joseph drive, so that leaves Lucy at the wheel. 

“’Kay, here we go,” Lucy says, pulling out.  

Next to John, Matt lifts his feet off the floor and slides them on to John’s lap. “My knee hurts. Must be the cold.” 

John rolls his eyes, but he helps take off Matt’s shoes and toss them to the floor. He tries to relax, moving his head against the cushion to find a comfortable position while at the same time careful to keep his hands firm on Matt’s ankles. Lucy’s not bad at the wheel but John’s a stubborn backseat driver and needs to not pay attention right now. 

Soon enough John’s drifting, body more than ready to sleep off all that turkey.   
   


* * *

 

John wakes up with a jolt. 

It’s nighttime outside the windows, Matt’s feet are no longer in his lap, and someone’s shouting. 

“—for that!” It’s Lucy. 

“Whoa, Lucy,” Matt says, leaning forward to touch her shoulder. “It’s really no big—” 

“Yes, it is!” Lucy says. 

John rubs his face and mutters, “What did I miss?” 

“Um.” Matt looks worried. 

“Are you sleeping with my brother?” Joseph demands, turning in his seat to look at John.  

It’s hard to make out his full face in the dim lighting, but John gets the gist of the expression he’s going for. Unfortunately, John’s not 100% awake. “What? Where’d that come from?” 

“Joseph,” Matt says, sounding angry again. “You have the stupidest—” 

“And you brought him home?” Joseph says. “You brought him to _mom_? Well done, Matt—” 

“Dad, you_ so_ should’ve just let his precious bike get stolen,” Lucy says. “Don’t _you_ feel stupid, now?” 

“I’m not saying I’m not grateful—” Joseph says. 

“So it’s only okay if he does something for you, then?” Matt says. “You were being real buddy-buddy then, but it’s only cool when _you_ say it is?” 

“Is this some kind of sugar daddy thing?” Joseph sounds horrified. 

“_What? _ No!” Matt says.  

“Because if it is, you know I’ve got to tell mom,” Joseph says. “_Fucking hell, _ no wonder you’re all, like, puppy-leashed and—” 

“Fuck you, Joseph Farrell!” Lucy shouts, her voice a thunderclap in the car. “Your _brother_’s the one who has my father pussy-whipped, that’s what it is! He came all the way out here for him! He’s allergic to trees! And hates holidays!” 

Joseph says, “Your dad’s not exactly a piece of—” 

“You stop right there or you’re going to get my foot in your throat,” Lucy says, and it’s strange for John to hear that voice being used on someone who’s not him. “My dad is ten times the man you _wish_ you could dream of being, you have no _fucking clue_. Matt’s lucky to have him. So _fuck you,_ and fuck your bike, and fuck your fucking technicolor fuckcoat.” 

John kinda wants to pipe up that she didn’t learn that from him, but he knows no one would believe that. 

Joseph says, “I don’t think—” 

“Yes, don’t think,” Lucy snaps. “You all right back there, dad?” 

John clears his throat, feeling oddly like he’s intruding on their discussion. “A-okay, Luce.” 

“Good,” Lucy says. Then she reaches over and yanks the radio knob, turning the music way up high. Luckily it’s set at a station John doesn’t mind. 

The next couple of minutes are tense. Joseph’s sitting ramrod straight, Lucy’s making faces to herself, and John still feels a little bit like he’s dreaming. 

John feels something nudging his knee: it’s Matt, pushing his black palmtop into John’s hands. He has to squint to make out the text. 

_u ok?_ 

John’s forefinger feels like a demolition ball when it hits the small keys to type: _slept wron neck hurts like a botch_ 

Matt’s fingers go fast on the keyboard. _sorry bout jos. not sure what happened_ 

John goes: _not big deal_ 

Reading that, Matt looks up at him, incredulous.  

John just shrugs, because it isn’t. If anything, it’s _annoying_, because John likes his business to remain his own, but he can count on one hand the people whose opinions matter to him and Joseph isn’t among them. That makes him not of concern, naturally. What _is_ of concern is the way Matt’s looking at John right now, all curious and wondering. 

If John’s not careful, soon Matt’ll be able to write the damn book on him, and then where would they be? 

John leans his head back and shuts his eyes.   
   


* * *

 

They drop Joseph off with little trouble. 

John takes the opportunity to stretch his legs while Matt and Joseph figure out a workable goodbye just out of earshot. Lucy joins John in leaning against the car, hands in her jacket pockets and head tilted upward to the sky. 

“I’ll drive from here on,” John says. 

“Okay,” Lucy says. She huffs a little and shakes her head.  “Can you believe that guy?” 

“He’s just concerned about his brother,” John says, shrugging. “He does have a point, and you know it.” 

“Please stop being reasonable,” Lucy says. “I can barely recognize you.” 

“Can’t help it,” John says somberly. “Matt’s been drugging my drinking water.” 

“Gross,” Lucy says, making a face. John doesn’t know why; the joke wasn’t that bad. 

When Joseph approaches them, John adjusts his body language. The younger Farrell looks a little sheepish, and sticks his hand out. “I’m sorry about running my mouth off there. Not my place.” 

John shakes the hand. He did pretty much the same thing (and worse) when his sister got together with that Texan dickhead, but he’s not about to shout it from the rooftops. 

“Uh,” Joseph says, turning to Lucy. “Yeah.” 

In John’s head, a different set of alarm bells go off. He recognizes this look, because he’s knocked it out of enough young punks in his time. He opens his mouth to speak, but Matt’s hand is on his arm – the touch is sudden and distracting. 

“Run along now,” Lucy says dismissively. 

“I apologize, it was wrong of me to say what I did,” Joseph says. 

“Yes, it was,” Lucy says.  

“Okay,” Joseph says. He looks he wants to say more, but he can’t ignore the way John’s staring holes into the side of his head.  

John only watches Joseph walk away, waiting until he’s entered the building before he turns to Lucy. But before he can speak, she’s tossed the car keys in the air and he has to catch them. 

“You’re driving,” Lucy says, and she’s turned away, walking around the car to ride shotgun. 

“Did you see that?” John says to Matt. 

“See what?” Matt says, opening the backdoor. 

“Your _brother_,” John hisses. “Did you see the way he—” 

“John,” Matt says slowly, reaching out and tugging the lapel of his jacket. This open touch – just as new as the other one – pulls John’s thoughts in a completely different direction. “Let’s just go.” 

“Okay,” John says, getting into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and pulls out, stealing glances at Lucy’s blank face when he can.  

“Hey,” Matt says, passing a cool can of something against John’s shoulder.  

John takes it with a nod of gratitude, snapping the can open as he drives. “That’d be really messed up.” 

“What, Powerade?” Matt says. “I know, but it was the only one I could find enough of—” 

“Not talking to you,” John says. “He didn’t slip you his number, did he?” 

“Dad,” Lucy says, yawning. “You promised.” 

“But that would be—” 

“_Promised_,” Lucy says, a little more firmly this time. 

John grits his teeth and curses softly. “_Fine_. Go to sleep.” 

“Will do,” Lucy murmurs, already halfway there. 

In the backseat, Matt chuckles to himself. Maybe Matt’s funny bone is broken, too, because there’s _ really_ nothing funny about this.

 

* * *

 

It’s nice while Lucy sleeps. John glances at her once in a while, amazed at how different she looks with all the lines of her eyes at rest. Matt sleeps for a while, too, but when he wakes up, he pops out another can and starts typing softly on his palmtop. 

The radio is off, the car is quiet, and the highway is stretching on seemingly to forever. 

Something warm is settling in John’s chest. 

It’s probably the gradual realization that he somehow managed to make it through the past couple of days without fucking things up badly.  

Whaddya know. 

“How did you guys get together?” Lucy says suddenly. 

John jerks with surprise. He turns briefly to give Lucy a slanted look. 

She’s slouched in the seat, eyes a little sleepy but her expression unapologetic. Then she moves, bringing her knees up to her chest in the tight space – it unexpectedly throws John back to a similar conversation of years earlier when her hair was shorter and her conversation skills less likely to make him wince. 

“I don’t know,” John says. 

“Liar,” Lucy says. 

John glances at the rearview mirror. Matt just looks back at him, guileless and unwilling to come to his rescue. 

“It just happened,” John says. “Can we not talk about it?” 

“I thought you liked talking about… Never mind,” Lucy trails off.  

John glances at her briefly, but Lucy’s turned her face away to the window. Her body language has barely changed but John can see it; there’s not a lot that can make Lucy uncomfortable, but when it happens, it’s clear as day. 

“Matt threw himself at me,” John says. 

“I did not!” Matt says, head moving up to the space between John and Lucy. “There was no throwing involved. I think?” 

“No throwing,” John says, nodding, though it’s still hurting his head a little that they’re talking about this. 

“Look, I don’t want to know the details,” Lucy says. “But who made the first move?” 

John thinks. He can hear Matt thinking, too. 

“He did,” Matt says just as John says, “Matt.” 

Lucy bursts out laughing. “Way to get your story straight.” 

“Can I veto this topic now?” John says. 

“Why?” Lucy says. “You’re the one who’s always saying we got to talk more. So we’re talking.” 

“Dude, you’re so cute when you’re squirmy,” Matt says, and tugs John’s ear.

“_Ugh_,” Lucy says. “You’re right, let’s not talk about this.” 

There’s silence while John gets off the highway. 

“But how did…” Lucy starts again. “Surely there must have been a trigger, right? This doesn’t come out of _nowhere._ There must’ve been _something_.” 

“A whole lot of nothings,” John says, surprising himself. “End up something.” 

“Deep,” Matt says with a laugh. 

“So not helpful,” Lucy says. “I’m just trying to… Okay. Sometimes I get attracted to someone from the get-go—” 

“Hey,” John says. 

“Dad, please,” Lucy says. “But sometimes I don’t, but we become friends, spend time together, but then something happens and it becomes… _more_. Do you know what I’m trying to say?” 

“No,” John says, but he does. He knows _exactly_ when that happened with Matt, but he sure as hell isn’t bringing it up now. 

“Whatever,” Lucy says, slumping in her seat. 

“It was after John told me about Nakatomi and Dulles,” Matt says. “For me, anyway.”

“What?” John says, surprised. “_That_?” 

“Yeah,” Matt says, sounding sheepish. “No, not like that – it wasn’t a hero worship thing. It was just… You didn’t have to share, but you did.” 

“Oh,” John says.  

Lucy clears her throat. “I have just _one_ more question…” 

John glances at the signboards.  

There’s only a couple of miles to go; he can make it.

 

* * *

 

John doesn’t have much love for his two-bedroom apartment, but it is a relief to get back there when they do. He tosses their bags aside, figuring he can sort through them later. 

“Hey, is this yours?” Matt says. 

John sees Matt holding up something that looks like a hairclip. “Looks like Lucy’s.” 

“Okay, letting her know,” Matt says, going off to doohickey a message her way.  

John makes a zombie beeline for the bedroom. He’s not that tired (it does take a lot to tire him out) but sometimes his age creeps up with an unexpected whammy, and this is one of those times. John falls on the bed face first and shuts his eyes. 

He can hear Matt enter the room, go through their bags, undress and then get into the shower. 

John just drifts. There’s nowhere he needs to be and nothing he needs to do, except maybe answer the buzzing on his hip. 

John grunts, getting the cell out from his pocket and up to his ear. “Yeah?” 

“_Oh, um… Bad time?_” It’s Jack. 

“No, no,” John says. “If you can’t call during high noon, when can you call?” 

“_Uh, yeah…_ _So, Happy Thanksgiving_?” 

“Back at ya, kid,” John says. “Hope you had a good one.” 

“_Was okay_,” Jack says.  

They talk. Or mostly Jack talks, reporting on Holly and the extended family that isn’t John’s anymore. The words are nice but the tone is nicer, and John lets himself float on that for a while. 

“_Actually, there _ is_ something…_” Jack says. 

“Shoot,” John says. 

“_Do you think I could – maybe – spend Christmas at your place_?” 

“Sure,” John says, because it’s Jack, and he doesn’t turn his kids down. “But ask your mother first. If she’s not cool with it, I’m not cool with it.” 

“_Okay, I’ll ask_,” Jack says.  

The bathroom door opens and there’s the sound of Matt walking, his damp feet noisy where they move on the floor. It’s a sudden reminder of Matt’s presence, a surprising snap to John’s chest_._ 

Luckily, that’s when Jack says, “_Hey, I gotta go… Mom says hi, by the way._” 

“Sure, no problem, and hi back,” John says. “Nice of you to call.” 

“_It’s what I do_,” Jack says. “_See ya_.”  

John hangs up. “Shit!”  

The mattress bends a little where Matt sits on it. “What?” 

“Jack just asked if he could come over for Christmas.” 

“Really?” Matt says, sounding way more excited than he should be. “Awesome! I get to break in the new oven.” 

John really doesn’t want to move, but he forces his head to turn and look at Matt. “What?” 

“It’ll be exciting!” Matt says. “Shit, I’ll have to do a load of research and trial runs. You won’t mind, though, will you? Need to look up sources and—” 

“What?” John says again. “You _want_ him to spend Christmas here?” 

“Why not?” Matt says, confused. “Did you sleepwalk through yesterday?” 

“That’s different,” John says. 

“How is it different?” 

“I don’t know,” John says stubbornly. “It is.” 

“Oh-oh-oh! We could invite Lucy, too!” 

“She’ll be with Holly.” 

“Oh,” Matt says, a little crestfallen. “But it’ll be awesome anyway, you’ll see. Oh wow, we’ll need to look for a tree and get decorations, although we can get most of those second-hand anyway and – what, why are you looking at me like that, _what_?” 

It’s occurred to John that the thing that was off about Matt the past few days has gone. This is Matt, relaxed and at home. 

“Nothing,” John says. 

“This isn’t about your issues with the C-word, is it?” Matt says, narrowing his eyes. “Come _ on_, don’t be such a fucking chicken shit, John. How about we call the ‘Winter Solstice’, you know, if that trips your psychological buttons and makes you feel better?” 

“I don’t have issues with Christmas,” John says, rolling his eyes. “That was years ago.” 

“Then we’re settled!” Matt says cheerfully. That grin really has no business being that wide. Suddenly it turns into a frown. “Come on, your neck’s bugging you, right? Let me.” 

John’s still not in the mood to move, so he lets Matt pull off his shirt and adjust him on the bed. Matt climbs on top of him without any sort of finesse – he isn’t that heavy, but it’s not like John can support him with his spine. “Watch it.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Matt says, quickly moving to sit comfortably across John’s lower hips while his hands arrive on John’s shoulders. To John’s surprise the hands do mean business, finding and pressing against muscles that crave the extra pressure. He hums approvingly. 

Matt has clever fingers, it seems. John’s never wondered if computer geeks have strong fingers; he doesn’t know whether Matt’s the norm or an anomaly, but he’s finding John’s pressure points easily, alternating between fingers and knuckles as he presses and soothes. 

Programmer’s fingers. Matt’s been programming John from the inside out while he wasn’t looking. That has to be it, and it’s completely John’s fault. 

But how was John supposed to know? It wasn’t supposed to be _hard_. He was just gonna let the kid hang out in his place ‘til he found somewhere new. It’s not like he was supposed to be there _long_, and it was the least John could do after all the kid’s been through. No harm, no foul, what could possibly happen? 

Great going, _genius_. 

Matt’s supposed to be long gone by now, living his own irrelevant life elsewhere. Instead, he’s sitting on top of John, kneading his shoulders into putty. 

“You were yelling at me,” John says. It’s easier to say it like this, with his eyes shut and face pressed against the sheets. 

“Hmm, what?” Matt says. 

“It was after you fell in the shower,” John says. “And you yelled at me. Called me out, threw the hero worship thing back at me. There was something in your face, it was just… I don’t know. That was the start.” 

The fingers pause briefly, then get back to work. 

“Okay,” Matt says. “Thank you.” 

John knows Matt’s thinking about the space between that incident and the day they finally did something about it. John had needed that space. 

Nothing’s ever come easy to John, who’s watched everything worth the postcard ripped away from him twice over, so why would life suddenly decide to break the pattern? Fate loves its fucking curve balls, and everything that Matt is makes John’s life complicated. _Of course_ he had to go and fall for someone so completely out of his comfort zone.  

Maybe that’s what makes this what he deserves, and somewhere down the line, why it feels right. 

“I guess it won’t be a big deal to have Jack here for Christmas,” John says. “But don’t poison him.” 

“I’m a good cook, dammit,” Matt says, pinching John. 

“Ow.” 

“It’ll be nice,” Matt says, voice a little softer. 

He really wants it, John realizes. Matt actually _wants_ to have Jack over for Christmas.  

“No tree,” John says.  

“Oh, right,” Matt says wryly. “Someone’s _allergic_.” 

John grunts. His shoulders are already feeling better, but he’s not going to say so, in case Matt stops. 

“You know…” Matt says, voice going even softer. “I didn’t want to leave my mom. I know it looks bad, that I went away after Joseph did, but I didn’t intend to _abandon_ her. I’d just… I’d never had my own life before. Maybe that’s a little bit of why I didn’t want to talk about it with you… I’m not that good a person, either.” 

“Nothing’s that straightforward,” John says. 

“I guess,” Matt says. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s a long, complicated story.” 

John shrugs a little. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Matt’s finger stop, and the weight shifts until John feels Matt’s breath on the back of his neck. “How about that.” 

There’s a story thread there, and John will leap on it now that it has been offered. But as of _ right this minute_, John can’t ignore the urgent press of how much Matt’s enjoying himself. 

“Or we can talk about it later,” John says. 

“We could do that,” Matt says. 

John pushes back a little. “Matt, you can…” 

“Hmm,” Matt says. He does move, but not in the way John expects. His weight comes up off John’s lower back and his knees arrive on the back of John’s thighs – it doesn’t hurt, but it has a slight promise of pain. Matt’s doing a stellar job of using John’s body as a surfboard, testing his weight and moving a little to find his balance.  

He’s breathing so quietly that John has the strangest urge to ask if he has permission to move. 

One of Matt’s hands moves up John’s neck to his head, fingers trailing the shape of his skull and tips running across stubborn hairs. The touch is curious and light, and John recognizes vaguely that Matt hasn’t done this before – taken his time to stop and smell the roses. 

There’s nothing immediately sensual about Matt’s fingers as they run across John’s skin but these nerves haven’t met anything gentle in long a while. Matt just keeps on going, following the contours while he breathes heavily. 

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Matt whispers. 

John grunts, because he can’t believe it either.  

Then Matt’s gone, scrambling over the mattress to the side table with an eagerness that’s familiar. John helps move things along by reaching down and undoing his pants, but Matt has to follow up from there and pull the rest of it off. 

Then the flesh and blood paperweight is back, Matt’s knuckles pressing a pathway down John’s back. John doesn’t make a sound of protest when the fingers find his opening and start working it. 

Another new thing to the dossier. John’s a big boy; he can take it.  

Except for the part where Matt’s being overly cautious again, because it’s not like John would deny him this. Sure, he hasn’t offered so _far_, but that’s because he’s an old dog not keen on learning new tricks – though there always exceptions. Matt Farrell is one big Exception. 

“Here’s a question for you, Matt,” John says. 

“What?” Matt says.  

“On a scale of one to ten, how unbreakable do you think I am?” John says. 

“Thirteen,” Matt says promptly. 

“Then what the hell are you doing?” John says, and he pushes back against Matt’s fingers. 

“I don’t know,” Matt says, though his laugh is a little distracted.  

His weight returns, and John focuses on that instead of the steady burn down below that he doesn’t want to think too much about. John just _does_ things, deep thinking optional, and he can do this for Matt.  

Matt moves again, hands on John’s hips and a brand new arrival in the form of a press against his opening. 

Big boy; can do this. 

John expects the curse in his chest. He expects the pain, braces against it, bites his teeth through it. 

What he _doesn’t_ expect is the sudden vocal calisthenics from Matt.  

Considering how much Matt talks, this says a lot. 

“_Oh my holy fuck_!” Matt says, the only recognizable words in the stream of noise coming out of his mouth. He inhales, making a wheezing sound when he does. 

John’s laughing against the sheets, body shaking despite himself and the massive fucking burn of invasion. Matt garbles some more as he tentatively pushes further and opens John up. John just breathes steadily in an attempt to keep his lungs from collapsing. 

“Shit – _shit_ – oh _shit_,” Matt mutters. 

“Breathe, Matt,” John says. 

“I’m going to have a heart attack and die,” Matt says hoarsely. “I’m going to have a _heart attack_ and I’m going to _die_, that’s what I’m going to do.” 

“Or you could just breathe.” 

“Or I could just breathe,” Matt says. He does. 

After a while it gets okay. Bits of John are moving around, getting used to Matt making himself at home. Matt notices it, too, and starts thrusting a little, smoothing out the movement and sliding in deep. A few more generous slides makes things even easier, but then Matt pulls out completely. 

John winces. “What?” 

“Turn over,” Matt says, fingers tapping at his waist. “C’mon, turn over.” 

John turns over. Matt moves quickly, pushing a pillow under John’s hips and lifting his knees over his shoulders. John exhales softly in wait for Matt to get things going again. 

“Hey,” Matt says, fingers tapping on John’s thighs. “Open them. Look at me.” 

John forces his eyes open.  

Matt’s face lights up with another bright smile. “Keep ‘em here.” 

Then he’s pushing right in, eyes locked on John’s, and it’s— 

Yeah, it’s different.  

“One day you’re going to want this,” Matt promises, thrusting steadily. “You’re going to want this, and you’re going to beg me for it. I’m going to make you.” 

John believes Matt could do it. It wouldn’t take a lot, and Matt does so love pushing John’s boundaries. 

“I said look at me, John,” Matt says, a little more strongly this time. 

He’s trying, but it’s a challenge. Matt’s eyes are difficult to look into when he’s like this; John never knows how much he’s giving away – if he’s _ already_ given it away without realizing it. It gets even harder to obey when Matt moves deliberately, changing the angle and trying to find that little bit where— 

John shudders. “Fuck!” 

Matt laughs, and does it again. 

It’s _good_. Matt’s making it good for John, fingers deftly working John’s cock just the way he likes with tightness along the shaft and a little messing around the head. And while he’s tugging _that_, he’s pounding the hell out of John – like there’s nothing to be afraid of, like John isn’t going to say no, or kick him out, or any of that shit, because he’s letting him do _this_. 

John comes, and it’s different.

Well, _obviously_ it’s different, there’s a dick in his ass. It’s moved all the sensations around, finding new nerves to pull tight to screaming. 

So John’s arching his back, cursing to the high heavens and coming like he just learned how.

It eventually passes and John comes back down feeling dazed like he’s been hit by a truck. Wait, no – he actually _has_ been hit by a truck and it’s not like that – this may involve a lot less blood but damn if it’s not a greater shock to the system. 

John opens his eyes again, and Matt’s still looking straight at him, the stupidest fucking grin on his face. 

Well, _shit_. 

Matt starts thrusting again, hips working in earnest against John as he gets closer to the edge. John can’t really do much right now, what with his being all hung out to dry. 

“Jesus, _fuck_, yeah,” Matt groans, tossing his head back. He shudders, letting out one last long groan that seems to go on forever. 

When he’s done he slumps forward, head dipping while he gasps for breath. 

Then he head shifts, his eyes peeking out from beneath sweaty bangs to look right at John. He giggles. 

John opens his mouth to rebuke him, but all he can manage is a pathetic, “Guh.” 

Matt pulls out, setting John’s legs gently back down the mattress – John winces, there’s no way around that – and gets rid of the condom before he scoots up the bed for a kiss. The softness of his mouth is a sharp contrast with how he was just fucking John silly a couple of moments ago.  

“Should’ve seen your _ face_,” Matt giggles against John’s stubbly cheek. 

“Thanks,” John mutters, knocking the back of Matt’s head gently with a knuckle. 

Man, John’s screwed, and not just in the literal sense.  

Okay, so he doesn’t mind _that_ much, but he has no point of reference for this, no fucking idea what’s supposed to happen next.  

Improvise, it is, then.


End file.
